


Underneath the Radar

by foxtales



Series: Running With The Shadows [1]
Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Heavy Angst, Historical, M/M, Secret Intelligence Service | MI6, Spies & Secret Agents, Violence, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 09:50:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 46,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1644440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxtales/pseuds/foxtales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dom's cover is blown, a team is dropped behind enemy lines to bring him home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted from 2004 to 2007.
> 
> Artistic license is my friend. I've tried to be as accurate as possible but sometimes I tweak history to help myself out.
> 
> Many and repeated thanks to AG, aire_blair, elouisa, Julie, pippinmctaggart, and tigg71 for the betas and hand holding throughout the time it took to write this. They helped make this a much better story than it would've been otherwise. While this has been betaed, I am a compulsive tinkerer so any mistakes are mine.

27 April 1942 Berlin, Germany

' _Monaghan working for Tommy. Detain and question._ '

Dominic Monaghan rubbed his tired eyes and took a deep breath before looking back down at his handwritten note. His eyebrows drew together as he considered his situation. He'd always been so careful - they'd always been so careful - how had he been discovered? He exhaled and leaned back in his uncomfortable metal chair. So few people even knew of him, and it had been planned that way. He'd been doing code work for the Nazis for nearly six years. Why did this have to happen now, when the fighting was getting fiercer and the traps better planned and more deadly; when his information was so much more important on a daily basis? He shook his head. There was nothing to be done for it now and he had more immediate troubles to consider. Essentially, he had just decrypted his death sentence. If there were any way he could simply get rid of the transmission, he'd do it, but it had come over the secret channel and had been logged the moment it had been printed on paper. Point in fact, he was damn lucky it had come through on that channel and he'd been on call or he would likely already be detained and on his way to Gestapo headquarters.

He looked back down at the paper on the table - if he fudged the message a bit, he could buy himself a few hours to get away. He stood up and began to pace, turning the code over in his mind, thinking of the best way to rephrase the translation. After a few turns, he sat back down and carefully placed his single piece of carbon paper between two clean sheets of paper. He officially decoded the transmission, leaving it worded the same but substituting the name of a local SD officer, Manfred Reinhardt, for his own. He smirked as he checked the bottom piece of paper to be sure the translation had gone through. Reinhardt abused detainees and subordinates alike so Dominic had no doubt that once this message was sent over the wire, the officer's own co-workers would show him the same zeal he had shown in the past during the interrogation process. More importantly, they would waste time trying to get Reinhardt to admit his guilt; time Dominic desperately needed to get himself out of Berlin.

He tore his original note into strips and ate the paper while gathering up his translating materials. Then, he scratched his fingernails over the surface of the table where he'd decoded his original note. Satisfied that anything that might have pressed into the soft material that covered the table was rendered unreadable, he stood up, crossed the room to the huge metal door and banged on it. He listened to the guards outside turning the heavy locking mechanism and then the door slowly swung open, allowing him to leave the room. They don't call this the vault for nothing, he thought as he nodded to the guards on his way towards what he always referred to as the 'Receiving Room.' In the Receiving Room, he turned in his translation and carbon paper and signed out of the building. His gaze caught on his earlier signature. An hour ago, he'd been Dominic Monaghan, Nazi sympathizer and top secret cryptographer. Soon he would be exposed as Dominic Monaghan, English spy.

Driving toward the gate, he could only hope his growing unease did not show on his face. The sergeant at the desk hadn't even looked at him past acknowledging he was there as he signed out. His pulse began to race as he got close to the gate; Had he been discovered yet? He slowed, preparing to stop, but the guards, used to his coming and going without specific orders, lifted the gate and waved him through. As he released the breath he'd been unconsciously holding, it crystallized in the chill air. He forced himself not to speed or do anything else that might attract attention. One mile away from the base, he pulled over and ran shaking hands through his sweat-dampened hair. Too close, Monaghan, _way_ too close, he thought as he forced himself to start the vehicle again. He had an unknown amount of time to destroy his equipment and disappear, and he had too much to do to waste precious minutes sitting by the roadside inviting passersby to question him.

It took him another fifteen minutes to reach his flat. He made himself climb the stairs slowly, in case any of his neighbors were watching. Once inside, he locked the door behind him, threw his jacket on the table and went into his spare bedroom. He looked at the picture of his mother on the wall. He missed her terribly, she and the rest of his family. They were in England and he hadn't seen nor spoken directly to any of them, in almost three years. His oldest brother Erich, who had been an officer in the _Wehrmacht_ until he'd been captured by the British in North Africa in 1941, was the last one he'd had much contact with since the war had started. Dominic sighed and took the picture down, pressing the wall behind so that the edge of a door moved out. He pulled the door the rest of the way open then reached into the hole, pulling out a short wave radio, before closing the door and putting the picture back up on the wall. He sat on the bed and sent an uncoded message over a certain frequency. He knew he was taking a chance but the message was only going out once and he didn't have the time to encode it. After transmitting, Dom dismantled the radio carefully, reducing it to the smallest pieces he could and putting them in different places around his flat. He hoped they sent the usual Gestapo thugs to search the place as they would undoubtedly miss the evidence.

Thirty minutes later he stood by his front door taking a last glance around his flat. It looked as though its tenant was gone for work or a short vacation - just enough clutter to look lived-in and as if waiting for someone to return home. Satisfied, he closed and locked his door behind him for the last time. He had only his briefcase as he slowly walked down the stairs and got back into the jeep. Any neighbors who might have seen him would have assumed he had been called back to work, but the case was filled with a change of clothes, money and false documents. With a trembling hand, he started the jeep and began his escape.

Hours and miles from the city, Dom ran out of petrol. He steered the jeep off to the side, careful to leave it in full view of the road. He grabbed his briefcase and ran towards the cover of the trees several hundred yards away. With any luck, it would be quite some time before someone came across the abandoned vehicle and called it in. As he reached the trees, he looked back at the road. There were no lights coming, but that didn't mean anything, really. You only used full headlights at night if you wanted to be target practice for the British. He shook his head with a wry smile at his predicament, but quickly turned serious again. He was wasting time. Sighing, Dom crossed into the tree line and disappeared into the night.

 *********

 Radio Communications Room, MI6 Building, London

The radio beeped, signalling an incoming message. The radio operator and transcriptionist on duty copied down the message, realizing the frequency was different from the other transmissions received here. He knew only one person used this frequency - Dominic Monaghan. The transcriber wasn't supposed to have this information but he'd set his mind to finding out why messages came through on this frequency that no one else used. He'd done some successful snooping through the files, and asked seemingly innocuous questions of his superiors. He was careful to not only listen to the answers, but also to observe the body language that accompanied them - what was unsaid was often more important than what was said in the intelligence business. He was careful to make sure that he was never in a position to have to answer a direct question regarding Monaghan. It wouldn't do to be caught - he wouldn't be able to pass on information then. When he was done, he looked at what was on his paper. "Pipes leaking. Must stay elsewhere." His eyes widened at the implications, then slowly closed as if he were in pain. He sat, defeated for a moment before composing himself and calling Major Hugo Weaving, the officer in charge.

Weaving came down almost immediately. He took the paper, read it, then thanked the transcriber and limped quickly from the room, taking the message with him. The man watched him go, then sighed heavily and looked at the clock. His shift was almost over. He would wait until he was off to make his phone calls. There were people who needed to know what had just happened.

*********

Ministry of Defence, London

Brigadier Ian McKellen glanced up from his papers when he heard the buzz of his phone. He picked it up and his secretary, Mrs. Woodrich, informed him that Major Weaving, the officer in charge of the Factory, was on the line for him. The Factory was an informal code for the actual office of MI6, the intelligence agency McKellen ran for the Crown. "Put him through, please." Then a moment later, "McKellen."

"We have a situation that requires your presence, sir," came the capable voice of his officer in charge.

"I shall be there within thirty minutes," McKellen answered before ending the call. He stood up and walked out to Mrs. Woodrich, who was waiting for instruction. "I shall be away for, at the very least, one hour. Please rearrange my schedule accordingly."

"Very good, sir," his secretary replied as he left the office.

*********

The car was waiting for him when he got downstairs. Ten minutes later, McKellen strode into the MI6 offices where he was immediately greeted by his officer in charge. Major Hugo Weaving had attended Sandhurst and had served in the Duke of Wellington's Regiment, and it was evident in his erect stance and his natty clothing. McKellen, who had served in the Grenadier Guard, was of the opinion that Weaving would have gone far in the military indeed, if he hadn't been so terribly wounded in the Great War. There was no room in the British Army for officers who had damaged backs and limbs, even ones who had been awarded the Victoria's Cross for valour. The military's loss, however, had been one of McKellen's greatest gains as he had recruited the injured and dejected man between the wars. It took almost two years for Weaving to heal enough to actually work, but once there, he had proven a natural for intelligence work and had quickly risen through the ranks of MI6. In 1932, when McKellen had been appointed the new head of MI6, he'd made Weaving his assistant and second in command. They'd worked together long and closely enough that McKellen knew by the look on Weaving's face that the situation was not good. He followed the younger man into the meeting room.

"About an hour ago, we received an uncoded transmission on Monaghan's frequency," Weaving said as he opened the sheaf of papers he'd been carrying and singled one out, handing it to McKellen.

"Pipes leaking. Must stay elsewhere," Ian read aloud, "What does that..." He slammed a fist on the table. " _Damn_ it, Weaving, how the bloody hell did he get ferreted out?"

"I don't know, sir. Obviously we have a mole, but..."

"But no idea who or where or anything else at all helpful," Ian broke in.

"I'm sorry to have let you down on this, sir," Weaving replied looking away.

"Nonsense," Ian said, waving his hand dismissively. "You've managed to keep Monaghan under wraps until now - an impressive feat considering the length of time he has been activated. You haven't let me down. All to the contrary, Weaving."

"Thank you, sir," he said, still not meeting McKellen's eyes.

"Who else has seen this message?"

"Just myself and the transcriptionist, sir."

Ian nodded. "Who did the transcription?"

"Matthew," Hugo replied.

"Matthew?" Ian looked hard at his subordinate. "Matthew _Monaghan_?"

Weaving's eyes widened. "I didn't even think...but he couldn't know, could he? He's certainly not authorized for it."

McKellen sighed. Matthew Monaghan was as bright, curious, and charming as his younger brother, Dominic. If he wanted information, he would use any means at his disposal to get it. "Nothing to be done about it now. His shift is over, yes?" He closed his eyes briefly at Weaving's nod, knowing he would be receiving a visit this afternoon. "Very well. If this message is to be believed, Dominic will no longer be transmitting anyway. I want you to gather all evidence of him, anything you can find, and bring it to me. This office is now removed from the Monaghan case."

Weaving nodded and followed McKellen as he stood up and left the room.

*********

Ministry of Defence, London

McKellen glanced up from his perusal of an incredibly boring report on the continued surveillance of alleged German spies operating in and around Parliament House when he heard raised voices in the waiting room. Within moments, his door flew open admitting Lord Bernard Hill, who had managed to successfully elude Mrs. Woodrich's attempts to corral him. He was surprised, but hid it well. He'd expected Matthew here making demands, not one of Ian's oldest friends.

"I'm sorry, sir, he wouldn't stop," said Mrs. Woodrich, glaring at the intruder.

"One cannot expect to stop thundering cattle on a rampage, can one, Mrs. Woodrich? Thank you just the same for trying." Ian offered a ghost of a smile as he waved her out of the room.

"What are you intending on doing about Monaghan?" Hill demanded as soon as the door closed behind her.

McKellen sighed. Matthew must have known he wouldn't have gotten anywhere himself in garnering more information on Dominic so he'd called in reinforcements. "Really, Bernard, you cannot come into my office and upset my staff like this."

"Bloody _Hell_ , Ian!" Bernard raged as he crossed the room and slammed his fists down on McKellen's desk, leaning over him. "You owe me an answer on this!"

McKellen's eyebrow rose as he steadily regarded his friend.

Hill sighed and pushed himself upright before walking to McKellen's window and looking out over Horse Guards Avenue. He stood stiffly, his hands clasped behind his back, for several long seconds before he hung his head. He turned back around, his eyes pleading. "Have you nothing you can tell me?"

Ian opened his mouth to answer, but the phone on his desk beeped. He picked up the handset. "Yes, Mrs. Woodrich? Ah, Lord Rhys-Davies. No, send him in please. Thank you."

The door to his office opened and Lord John Rhys-Davies came in, closing the door quietly behind him.

Ian actually smiled. "First Bernard, now you John. Matthew was busy this afternoon."

"He seems to be the only person in MI6 who is willing to talk about Dominic," Hill snapped.

McKellen's smile disappeared as he turned to face Hill. "Has it ever occurred to you, Bernard, that it might have been for Dominic's safety? Perhaps I should add that as it is a matter of State, it is none of your bloody business?"

"Not my business?" he spluttered, "my godson, my _nephew_ , is none of my business?"

John crossed the room and grabbed Hill's shoulder, his eyes and voice sympathetic. "You know that's not what Ian meant, Bern. If you'd let him talk instead of badgering him, maybe we could get some answers." Hill's flashing eyes met John's calm ones and after a long moment, he nodded, letting himself be led to one of the chairs across from Ian. Once Bernard was settled and quiet, John looked at Ian - really looked at his old friend, and didn't like what he saw. Hill was the fiery one, and likely he'd already been so wound up when he'd arrived that he hadn't seen the shadows, the haunted look in his friend's eyes. Ian tried to hide these things from most people and was usually successful. John, however, was quite perceptive, and being friends with Ian for so many years gave him even more of an advantage. "What can you tell us?" he asked, his deep voice calm and even.

"There's not much to tell," Ian replied. "We know there's a leak, but only because Dominic told us. We know he's trying to get out of Berlin. That's all we have."

John nodded. "Matthew told us that already. I'd hoped to hear that a team would be sent in. Perhaps..."

"Where do I send the team, John?" Ian asked, shrugging helplessly. "How do I let Dominic know a team is coming?"

John's mouth fell open. He turned to see Bernard staring at Ian, face pale and drawn. Both were quiet as the deeper meaning of McKellen's words sunk in.

"Is there no hope, Ian?" Bernard asked.

"What would you have me do, Bern?"

Hill pounded his fist on the arm of the chair. "I don't know! _Something_ , though. Dominic deserves better than this!"

McKellen sighed. "Yes, he does. But he also knew what dangers he was likely to encounter. He'll have contingency plans and they won't involve getting rescued by the Crown."

"Are you sure of that?" John asked quietly.

Ian gave an undignified snort. "This is Dominic Bernard Patrick Luke Monaghan, John."

John and Bernard both laughed, hearing the four-year-old Dom of their memories reciting his extra long name in his delighted, childish tones. ' _MY name is DOMinic-BERnard-PATrick-LUKE!_ ' He'd always loved it when people had asked him what his name was, and sometimes he would dance around in accompaniment to its rhythm. It had never failed to draw chuckles from whomever was present, just as the memory of it now drew smiles from all three men.

"True," John replied, still smiling, "Dommie always had a back-up plan. Always."

Bernard straightened suddenly. "Would he have access to a radio, do you think?"

Ian cocked his head. "Not one he could use to send a message but..." he trailed off, thinking furiously. "It's possible we could broadcast a message vague enough not to be deciphered by the Germans. Then, at least, I would be able to put out a location from where a team could extract him. We would have no way of knowing if he'd gotten the message though..."

"But the team could have a set amount of time to wait for him before they have to leave, yes?" Bernard said quickly, before Ian could talk himself out of the rescue.

"Yes," Ian replied, looking hard at his friend. "I'll mount your bloody rescue mission, Bernard. I just hope it doesn't mean the deaths of the men going in."

"I do, too," Bernard said softly.

"Will you let us know once you've settled the details?" John asked as he touched Bernard's arm, indicating they should leave.

"Yes, but by all that's holy, find out who else Matthew has told about this and keep them quiet! Someone out there wants Dominic dead," McKellen said.

The two men nodded and left. Once the door closed behind them, Ian picked up the phone and dialed. "Weaving, get me Serkis."


	2. Chapter 2

28 April 1942 High Wycombe, 30 miles west of London

Andy Serkis pushed his non-regulation length curls off his forehead as he waited for the arrival of the Officer in Charge of the base. He smiled, bemused, at his situation. He had been quick to dismiss McKellen's earlier warnings. 'You may encounter some difficulties tracking these officers down, Serkis,' the Brigadier had said. Andy, ever the optimist, had shrugged it off. He'd been willing to grant the young Guardsman who'd greeted him fifteen minutes to search because he'd assumed that Major Boyd would be found in that time. Instead, he'd been forced to cool his heels as the Guardsman called in a Staff Sergeant, who also hunted for several minutes before declaring there was no Major William Boyd on the registry for the base. Both men had looked at Andy and shrugged helplessly before calling their Officer in Charge, a Colonel Alan Lee, to see if he could solve the mystery. Andy had settled himself back into his chair to wait for yet another person to search for the elusive Major Boyd.

Colonel Lee entered the waiting room five minutes later, a frown already on his face. Andy stood up and saluted. "Colonel Lee, I'm Captain Serkis. Brigadier McKellen of MI6 informed me I could find Major William Boyd on this base."

"Yes?" Lee said, frown deepening at Boyd's name.

"I've been here for thirty minutes, sir. He's yet to be found," Serkis replied, raising his hands in a "who knew it would be this difficult" gesture.

"Why not?" Lee demanded, glaring at the two enlisted men. "His man is in the non-com club. He'll know where the Major is, certainly."

"You are aware of Boyd then?" Andy asked, raising one eyebrow. "These men say he is not on the register."

"He's not," Lee growled, obviously not pleased with that fact. "Otherwise, he would be required to take part in the everyday duties and formations for officers at this base. He has permission to be excused. You will have to go through his man to get to him. Lucky for you, Sergeant Sean Bean, who is also exempt from duty and manoeuvers, is, at the moment, in the non-com club drinking a pint."

Andy fought back his chuckle as this was an obvious sore spot for Colonel Lee. Personally, he was finding Boyd and Bean's ducking of duty and flaunting it in the face of the base commanders amusing. Maybe this trip wouldn't be as deadly boring as he'd feared.

"What does MI6 need with the Major?" Lee asked.

Andy met the Colonel's eyes and smiled. "I can't say, Colonel, but what I can say is that after today, Boyd will no longer be your problem."

Lee looked so relieved that Andy had to fight his chuckle until he was out of the building.

*********

Base Non-Commissioned Officer's Club

Andy pushed open the door and looked around the club. He then realized that neither the Colonel, nor either of the enlisted men, had offered a description of Sergeant Bean. He shook his head at petty games and went to the bar to ask which of the men was Bean. He was directed to a table along the back wall, where a lone man was sitting, contemplating his lager. As he walked toward the table, Andy studied the Sergeant. Bean's blond hair was brushing his collar, his blouse was unbuttoned, and his sleeves rolled up past his elbows. Apparently, very few of the rules pertained to Sgt. Bean, Serkis thought, smiling to himself. When he reached the table, Bean looked up at him, sharp green eyes taking his measure.

"Sergeant Bean." It was not a question.

"Who wants to know?" Bean challenged.

"Captain Serkis, MI6," Andy said evenly, successfully keeping the smirk not only off of his face but out of his voice. He would have to congratulate himself later, because Bean was obviously an agitator. Andy was also an agitator. So brilliant an agitator, in fact, that the only reason he hadn't been court-martialed and put in prison, or worse, was because Brigadier McKellen had rescued him. Serkis owed McKellen more than he could ever repay, and dealing with a smartarse Northerner was an easy way to settle up some of that debt.

"And what would MI6 be needing with this poor soldier?"

Andy smiled a little. "It would appear, Sergeant Bean, that you are the only soul on this base who knows the whereabouts of Major William Boyd. I would very much like to speak with him."

Calculating green eyes narrowed. "Would you now? Well, so do lots of blokes." Bean deliberately took his time taking a deep swallow of lager. "If I was of a mind to take you, what would you be wanting to speak to the Major about, sir?"

"That's for the Major to know, Sergeant," Andy replied, his smile widening.

Bean grunted and took another long swig of lager. "I'll just be finishing my pint then, sir."

"You do that," Andy said, grabbing a chair and straddling it, his arms resting on the back.

Sean snorted loudly. "I'm not going anywhere, sir."

Andy chuckled. "Not without me, at any rate."

Bean laughed as he raised his mug and toasted the captain.

Serkis reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope. He laid it on the table before looking up at his companion.

"What's that, then?" Sean asked, his eyebrow raising.

"Orders for Major Boyd."

Bean cursed under his breath. "Why didn't you say so, sir?" he demanded before draining the rest of his drink and standing up. "Come on, then," he said as he hurried out of the club.

"I didn't say because you seemed to be having such a good time. I do so hate to ruin a good time," Andy said to Sean's back as he followed the man to a jeep parked illegally by the side of the club.

"I was, sir," Sean said as he turned and gestured Andy into the jeep with a quick grin. "I don't fuck around with the Major's official business, though." He winced as he realized what he'd said and to whom. "I mean..."

Andy waved the retraction away. "You strike me as the type of bloke who says exactly what he means, Sergeant. Regardless, I'm not going to take offence at your verbal fuck-up, all right?"

Sean chuckled as he started the jeep and headed out. It wasn't often that he took a liking to someone so quickly, let alone an officer, but Serkis was all right. Bean was sure that Serkis and Boyd would get along, with some notable exceptions of course, and he was anticipating their first meeting, and the possible fireworks therein, with great amusement.

Andy caught a hint of the smile that flitted across Bean's face. "What's got you in such high humour?"

Sean shook his head. "Nothing, sir."

Andy's eyebrow rose in disbelief, but he stayed silent throughout the rest of the drive.

Bean pulled up in front of an office on the far side of the base. Andy was a bit confused. Surely, after everything he'd had to go through to find Boyd, the man wasn't holed up in an office where anyone could walk in and find him. "The Major is here?"

Sean snorted. "Only for a meeting, sir. I think it's about time to rescue him. Come on."

Andy shook his head and followed.

*********

Major William Boyd was frustrated. Forty-five minutes ago he’d been dropped off for a meeting with Colonel Alfred Winston-Davis, the commanding officer of the Queen’s Regiment first battalion, currently stationed at High Wycombe before shipping out to North Africa. Winston-Davis had begun the meeting by explaining that the Americans wanted to play war-training games with their British cousins. Winning was paramount, and how better to beat those obnoxious Yanks, the Colonel had said contemptuously, than to spring a battle-tested SAS major on them. Boyd had tried to tell Winston-Davis that he was not available, but when he’d made to speak, the Colonel had told him to shut it until he’d been given permission to open his mouth. Boyd had subsided into sullen silence while Winston-Davis had launched into an excruciatingly detailed description of the mission he’d wanted the Major to lead.

“Sir, I am exempt from all base exercises, activities and initiatives,” Billy said crisply when permission to speak had finally been granted.

The Colonel straightened in his chair across the table. “Major,” he began coldly, “I will see you on the line at oh-five-hundred tomorrow morning or I will send you down for insubordination and dereliction of duty.”

Billy reached into his inside jacket pocket, pulled out a white envelope, laid it on the table and pushed it across to the colonel. “You might want to read that, sir,” he said as he leaned back in his chair. He disliked using the orders inside - was only supposed to use them as a last resort according to Colonel David Stirling, his commanding officer - and he was terribly annoyed that Winston-Davis had forced his hand.

The Colonel pulled a single mimeograph sheet out of the envelope, and read it carefully. Billy could tell the exact moment Winston-Davis saw the Prime Minister’s signature, as the man’s eyes widened almost comically before he really looked at Billy. “What are you doing at High Wycombe, then, Major Boyd?”

Billy’s smile did not reach his eyes. “I’m awaiting new orders from Downing Street, sir. Would _you_ like to explain to Mr. Churchill precisely why I was unavailable if he were to have need of my services while I was running around in the woods on your mission of paramount importance?”

Winston-Davis stood up and slammed his palms on the table before leaning forward so he loomed over Boyd. “I will not tolerate insubordination, Major, not even from a man with the Prime Minister’s signature on his orders!”

Billy had reached the end of his patience. He did not suffer fools, even those of higher rank. He stood up as well - straightened to his full five foot six inches and stared back at the Winston-Davis. “Understand this, Colonel, you may have the temporary joy of putting me away, but it will mean your job and your pension. Is it worth it?”

The Colonel’s eyes flashed at the challenge and he opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by a polite knock at the door. Winston-Davis said coldly, “We’ll continue this conversation at another time.”

“Yes, sir,” Billy replied with a smirk.

The Colonel bristled again, but answered his orderly’s second knock with, “Enter.”

*********

Andy sighed inwardly as the first knock went unanswered. Couldn’t anything go easily today? The orderly knocked again but this time a muffled “ _Enter_ ” was heard. The orderly pushed the door open and led the two men in.

The two men already in the room were facing each other, insignias obscured, and Andy started toward Winston-Davis. Bean saw Andy’s mistake, and completely opposite of what he would have done normally, called in Billy’s direction. “Major Boyd, Captain Serkis has orders for you.”

Andy realized Sean had saved him from an embarrassing mistake. He would have to thank him later. He walked to Boyd and came to attention. “Major Boyd.”

Billy’s smirk widened, but he successfully fought the urge to grin over at Winston-Davis. “At ease, Captain. What do you have for me?”

Andy handed over the orders. Billy quickly read them, folded the papers, and turned to Sean. “We’re going to London.” Then he turned to the Colonel. “Colonel Winston-Davis, I regret I cannot assist you in your important mission. Thank you for thinking well enough of me to ask.” With that, Billy saluted and marched smartly out of the room, Sean and Andy following behind, Andy wondering what caused such a sour and angry look to pass over the Colonel’s face.

*********

Andy had never been particularly good at keeping his mouth shut. It had gotten him into huge amounts of trouble in the military and had resulted in many messes for McKellen to clean up afterwards. Knowing this about himself, Andy often made an extra effort to keep quiet when he was thinking smart thoughts. Sometimes, even that wasn't enough. He wanted to kick himself when he heard, "So, who won, then, Major?" come out of his mouth.

Boyd looked over his shoulder, frowning slightly. "What was that, Captain?"

Great fucking job, Serkis, Andy thought to himself. But then he decided if he was already in trouble, he might as well make it worth his while. "Who won that pissing contest, sir?"

Boyd's eyebrow rose as he regarded Serkis for a moment. He was about to answer when Bean jumped in. "You haven't been around long enough to know, but Billy here _always_ wins." He leaned closer to Andy, but said loud enough for the Major to hear, "It was the best day, Captain, when Billy-lad was promoted, because now I can call him Major Tosser or Major Wanker and it's completely true."

Andy's eyes widened as he looked toward Boyd, certain that himself and Sean were about to receive an angry set-down. Contrary to Andy's expectations, the Major was grinning at Bean. Apparently it wasn't a problem for a subordinate to call him Major Wanker - at least not this particular subordinate. Then Boyd turned to face Andy and, still smiling, said, "He who has Winston Churchill's signature on his orders, wins, Captain."

"Ah." Andy did not get in a quip as he might have otherwise. He was still a bit off balance from the closeness these two men showed - certainly more than the average Major and his assistant. He was still musing when they reached the jeep. He would get the story from McKellen or Weaving when he got back to London.

"Are you coming to London with us, Captain?" Bean asked as he pulled away from the office.

"No, I have another man to track down. If you could just drop me at the main office, Sergeant?"

"Yes, sir. Will we see you in London at all?" Bean asked as he stopped in front of the main office.

"Likely to," Andy replied, smiling. "You won't be going anywhere without Lieutenant Bloom."

"Is that Lieutenant Orlando Bloom?" Billy asked, a smile in his voice.

Andy turned to look at the major. "Yes, sir. Do you know him?"

"We've met a time or two," Bean chimed in.

"Well, then, it looks like we'll be having a regular reunion," Andy said, grinning at the two men. He stepped back from the jeep. "Drive safely, gentlemen. I'd hate to have gone through all of this trouble to have you not make it to London."

He waved as Bean pulled away, then walked to his own vehicle in front of the building. He thought more about Bean and Boyd. McKellen had only asked for the major, but it was obvious Bean was going as well. Andy wondered how McKellen would take that, then chuckled. In stride was how, because that's what a good intelligence officer did -- planned and then dealt with the snags as they came up. He started his car and hit the road. One more stop and then home.


	3. Chapter 3

29 April 1942, Bath, England

 Orlando’s eyes narrowed in concentration as his dexterous fingers unscrewed the faceplate on the nose of the bomb. He lifted the plate and carefully pulled the cap off the metal casing resting inside the cylinder. He laid the cap on the ground beside him, and reached back into the bomb to release the timing pin. There was a second of intense fear when he heard the firing mechanism click, but he managed to get the end of the pin back in place before the connection sparked. He thought he heard someone call his name but didn't look to see. If they were still alive when he was done, _then_ he’d worry about it. He blew out a calming breath and then pulled the pin out again, slower this time. The mechanism stayed in place, so Orlando set the pin down and picked up his wire cutters. With his left hand, he cautiously lifted two green wires with two fingers and pulled down a blue one with his pinkie. He reached in, held his breath, and snipped the blue wire.

Releasing a steadying sigh, he began to dismantle the rest of the warhead and its firing mechanism. Once it was completely disarmed, he stood up to see if anyone was waiting for him. A Guardsman was standing on the other side of the sandbags, staring at him with fear and awe. Orli smiled. “What can I do for you?”

“There’s a Captain waiting for you back at main,” the Guardsman said. He paused for a moment, eyes wide before continuing. “That a bomb?”

“Yes,” Bloom replied as he bent to pick up the metal cylinder. “Right, then,” he said, trying to hand the body of the bomb to the Guardsman.

The young man just stood there, staring at the offering.

“Carry this back, won’t you?” Orli said, pushing the twenty pounds of roughened metal into the other man's hands.

“Uh…sir…”

“I’ve got the trouble.” Orli smiled as he lifted up the detonator and fuses. “You’ll be fine.”

The Guardsman waved a sloppy salute and beat a hasty retreat towards the main tent. Bloom followed at a more sedate pace, shaking his head and chuckling to himself.

*********

Andy looked up as the tent door was flung open. A pale and sickly-looking Guardsman entered and, seeing Andy, saluted. “Lieutenant Bloom is on his way, sir. He had to stop by the depot first.”

“Are you all right, man?” Andy asked, as the pallor of the man's skin did not correspond with the sweat at his temples.

“Fine, sir, I just…he was working on a bomb and I’ve never been so close before, sir.”

Andy nodded. Confronting one’s mortality on the fly was never pleasant. He was about to speak when the tent flap was tossed open. Serkis studied Bloom as the young Lieutenant entered and saluted him before coming to attention. ‘Pretty boy’ he thought uncharitably before addressing his subordinate.

“Lieutenant Bloom, you are filthy,” he said, smirking as Orlando tried to surreptitiously brush the dirt from his uniform.

Orlando barely swallowed his retort. “Defusing bombs can be dirty work, sir,” he answered evenly.

Andy was impressed. Had the situation been reversed, he would have gotten into trouble with his smart mouth, for sure. He knew little about Boyd, Bean and Bloom but he could see how and why they would work well with each other. “Too true, Lieutenant,” he said, giving Bloom’s uniform another pointed look.

Orli somehow managed not to roll his eyes. Why was this Captain trying to bait him? “The Guardsman said you needed to see me, sir?”

Andy smiled, knowing what Bloom was about. “The Crown needs your particular skills, Lieutenant; you are for London tomorrow.”

Orli cocked his head but held his obvious question. Andy was impressed again. Perhaps McKellen needed to recruit a few more men for the Intelligence cause.

“Walk with me,” he said, leaving the office and heading toward his jeep. Away from prying ears, he turned to face Bloom. “What was your question, then?”

“How did you get my name? What do you need with me?”

Andy shook his head. “I haven’t any idea, Lieutenant. They don’t tell me the why or how – only the who and where. In your case, I reckon it’s because you’ve got a reputation for being good with explosives and people – a rare mix, I daresay.”

“You should know that my area is bombs and explosive devices of the like -- mines are a different matter. I can do them, but I’m no expert, sir.”

Andy sighed. “Come with me,” he said, heading back into the main tent. “Sergeant Foote, is there a secure line here?”

“No, sir, closest is High Wycombe.”

“Very good, Sergeant,” Andy said, holding in a deeper sigh. He turned to Bloom. “How long do you think it will take you to pack, Lieutenant?”

“Twenty minutes or less, sir.”

“Bring your bag to the jeep. I’ll wait for you there.”

“Yes, sir,” Orlando said as he saluted and hurried from the tent.

Andy looked over at the Sergeant. “I suppose I should notify the commanding officer that Bloom is coming with me.”

Foote smirked. “Likely, sir.”

Andy snorted. “Be a good chap and get him on the line for me.”

“Yes, sir,” Foote chuckled as he picked up the phone.

*********

High Wycombe

Serkis pulled up in front of the building he’d been in just that morning. Colonel Lee would be so happy to see him twice in one day, he was sure. What really irritated him, though, was that he and Bloom, who’d remained mostly silent on the trip, would have to stay in the Bachelor Officer’s Quarters on the base. He’d hoped to be in his own bed tonight. Such is the life of a go-to man, he supposed. “Come with me,” he said as he climbed out of the jeep.

Orlando followed him into the building, looking around once he was inside. Andy was just glad that a different Guardsman was on duty now.

“Good evening,” he said, walking up to the desk. He pulled out his identification and handed it to the guardsman. “Captain Serkis, MI6. I need a secure line to the number on the back of that card. Ask for Brigadier McKellen and tell him the Prodigal Son is coming home.”

The Guardsman looked at him as if he was crazy but wrote down the instructions and went into the back.

“MI6?” Orlando asked warily.

“Yes, Bloom, MI6. You have been chosen to serve your country in a more concentrated manner because of your knowledge and background with explosives. Unfortunately, I do not have any further information for you at this time.”

Orlando nodded, accepting but not entirely believing what Serkis was saying.

“How did I get so lucky as to see you two times today, Captain?” Colonel Lee asked as he entered the front room. He looked at Bloom. “Ah. You weren’t done stealing men off our bases yet.”

Andy chuckled. “I’m in need of a secure line, sir, and you’re it. I couldn’t make it back to London today.”

The Guardsman handed Lee the identification and the paper upon which he’d written Serkis’s instructions. Lee looked it over, and a smile touched the corners of his mouth as he glanced back up at Serkis. “Captain, somehow I have no difficulty seeing you as the Prodigal Son. Will McKellen be waiting to welcome you home with open arms, do you think?”

Andy laughed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He managed to keep his mouth shut, to his great relief. He’d had a comeback hovering just on the tip of his tongue, but he was certain the starchy Colonel Lee would not think as highly of it.

“Come on back,” Lee said, his smile widening. “I’ll get started on the telephone.”

“Yes, sir.” Andy nodded as Lee walked into the back of the building. Then he looked over at Orlando. “You’re with us, Bloom,” he said.

Orlando followed, wondering what he’d just been drafted into.

In the back, Lee was asking for Brigadier McKellen, and being told no such person was at the number dialed.

"What do you mean, no such person? I've been handed this number and name by an MI6 operative."

Andy gestured for the phone, and Lee handed it over with a frown.

"Is that Gretchen or Caroline? This is Serkis, 513926AS."

"It's Caroline, Andy!"

"Hello, love. Ian around?" Both Lee and Bloom looked surprised at a Captain addressing a Brigadier by his first name.

"I'll patch you through."

"Brilliant, love. I'll see you soon."

"Charmer," she said before transferring him with an audible click.

"McKellen."

"Serkis, sir."

"Ah, Serkis. Boyd and Bean have arrived. Have you had any trouble locating Bloom?"

"I've found him, sir. I needed a secure line to talk you, and had to backtrack to High Wycombe. We'll be in London tomorrow."

"What is it that you need?"

"Lieutenant Bloom has been so kind as to disclose that he is less than brilliant with mines. We'll need someone else to pick that up, sir."

Orlando bristled at Andy's words and tone but kept himself from responding to the sentiments expressed. "I know who will be your best option," he said evenly.

"You know an expert in mines?" Andy said, turning to face Bloom.

"Lieutenant Karl Urban, New Zealand Expedition forces. He's on Malta right now, though."

"Karl Urban, sir," Andy repeated into the phone for McKellen. "He's a Lieutenant in the ANZAC, but he's on Malta, sir. You're going to have to fly him off."

"We can do that," McKellen replied. "I'll have something lined up by the time you get back to London."

"You're saying that as if I'll be on the plane, sir," Andy said, chuckling.

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

"Sir, surely you are not flying me to Malta?"

"Bloom as well."

Serkis looked at Bloom, then sighed. "Yes, sir."

"I will talk to you more tomorrow, then."

"Goodbye, sir."

After another loud click signifying the end to the call, Andy handed the phone back to Lee. "Thank you, sir."

"Did I hear correctly? You are going to Malta?"

"Yes, sir. Lieutenant Bloom and I are going sometime tomorrow, probably."

"Why do I need to go?" Orlando asked, belatedly remembering to add "sir" to the question.

Andy smirked. "Obviously, I look too much like a German spy."

Lee chuckled. Bloom did not.

"Look, Lieutenant," Andy began with a sigh when he saw his attempt to lighten the situation had failed, "You will go for the same reason I am. Because we were ordered to go by a superior officer. If that's not good enough for you, please do feel free to discuss it with Brigadier McKellen tomorrow."

Orlando's jaw clenched. "Yes, sir."

Andy turned to Lee. "Do you have space for two weary travellers?"

"I only have bunks left."

Andy nodded. "Bunks will do. We're only here until dawn anyway."

"Very good. I will have Guardsman Brophy show you to the BOQ."

"Thank you, sir," Bloom and Serkis chorused as they followed Lee out to the front desk.

*********

30 April 1942 London, Ministry of Defence

Andy pulled up to the front of the building and parked in a reserved spot. An irritated Guardsman stepped out into the cold wind and marched toward the car. Orlando anticipated Serkis getting a lecture on who got to park where, depending on rank and/or status. When the Guardsman saw who was driving the vehicle, he stopped, saluted and turned to leave. Orlando was intrigued.

They hurried into the building, keen on spending as little time in the biting wind as possible. From there, they were ushered quickly into the elevator. They landed on the fourth floor, and walked down the long hall to a solid wood door. Andy pushed the door open, and led Orlando into a large waiting room.

"Andy!" A small, competent-looking woman came around the desk to greet them.

"Mrs. Woodrich, my love!" Andy exclaimed warmly, grinning as he took her hands in his and gave her a kiss on both cheeks.

"Silver-tongued devil," she replied with exasperated affection.

"And you love it, my dear," he said, chuckling as she smiled. "Mrs. Woodrich," he began, turning to gesture toward his companion, "this is another piece of the Brigadier's puzzle, Lieutenant Orlando Bloom. Bloom, this is the best and most loyal secretary in this war, Mrs. Caroline Woodrich."

Mrs. Woodrich tutted at Andy and smiled at Orlando before going back round her desk to buzz McKellen. "Sir, Captain Serkis and Lieutenant Bloom are here. Shall I show them in?" Pause. "Very good, sir." She came back to stand in front of the two officers. "Follow me, please, gentlemen. Er...you as well, Andy."

"Sweet Caroline, I am hurt!" Andy cried, his hands moving to cover his heart. "You wound me, you do!"

Mrs. Woodrich smiled sweetly as she led them to the closed door at the other end of the waiting room. She rapped twice before pushing it open and letting them in. She closed the door behind them once they were inside.

Andy and Orlando stood at attention. "Captain Serkis and Lieutenant Bloom reporting," Andy barked.

"And it's about bloody time! We've only been waiting since yesterday afternoon," came a voice Orlando was very familiar with.

A smile crossed Bloom's face. "Is that William Boyd, late of the Scots Guard?"

"In the flesh," Boyd replied, standing up and turning to face the two officers. A broad grin wreathed his face as he crossed the room and embraced Orlando.

"He's not the only Scots Guard in the room, y'know," came another familiar voice.

Orlando pulled back from Billy to look at Sean Bean's laughing face. "If it isn't Sean Bean. Where one goes, the other follows, eh?"

"Shut it, you southern bastard!" Bean replied cheerfully as he wrapped his arms around Bloom.

After the embracing and backslapping, the three turned to face McKellen.

"Brigadier McKellen, meet the best explosives and demolitions expert in the war," Billy said, a wide grin still on his face.

"Except for mines," Andy called out helpfully.

Boyd and Bean snickered. They looked from Bloom to Serkis and back to Bloom before bursting into laughter. "He..he..told you...he..wasn't...go...good...w...with mines?" Billy managed to spit out.

Andy's smirk faded a bit in the face of such a reaction. "Yes, sir. He told me just that; it's why we have to pick up Lieutenant Karl Urban today."

Billy and Sean laughed harder at this piece of news. Orlando tried to calm them down. "It's true," he said to no one in particular. "Karl is better than me with mines."

It didn't work. Boyd and Bean kept laughing. Bloom shrugged.

McKellen had had enough. "What's so funny?" he demanded.

Billy somehow managed to control his mirth. "'M sorry, sir, it's just a bit of an inside joke."

"Explain."

"Yes, sir," Billy replied. "I suspect you know that we all worked together in North Africa. Well, Orlando, here, is good with mines, but Karl is a master at them. So it happens to follow that...well, I'm sorry sir, it just really isn't funny unless you were there..."

McKellen looked from Serkis to Bloom to Boyd. "In your opinion, Major Boyd, do we need Urban?"

Billy didn't hesitate. "Yes, sir."

McKellen nodded. "Very well. Our pilot is on the way. Serkis, Bloom, you will be departing at 14:00. Boyd, Bean, make yourselves comfortable in the waiting room until he gets here. I need to speak with these two."

"Yes, sir," Billy and Sean chorused as they walked out of the room.


	4. Chapter 4

30 April 1942 London, Ministry of Defence

"It'll be good to work with Orli and Karl again, don't you think?" Bean said quietly to Boyd as they waited for McKellen to call them back into his office.

A smile creased Billy's otherwise blank face, but he said nothing.

"Come on, Bill, they wouldn't be together again if not for you."

Billy's smile widened. "Tell the world, Sean, it's only a court-martial."

Sean was about to answer when the outside hallway door opened.

A tall, slim man in an RAF uniform entered and walked to Mrs. Woodrich. "Commander Wenham for Brigadier McKellen."

"Very good, Commander," Mrs. Woodrich said, smiling. "If you'll just have a seat, I will let the Brigadier know you have arrived."

Wenham smiled and nodded. He walked over to the other men and looked at them for a long moment. His brother had told stories about the newly formed SAS unit that had operated near them in North Africa and how they'd kept the Germans from overrunning British lines, sometimes single-handedly.

"Major William Boyd."

Billy looked up. It still threw him that people he'd never met would know him, sometimes by name only, sometimes by sight. He looked hard at Wenham before smiling widely. "You _must_ be Crazy Dave."

Bean snorted. "Don't you mean Crazy Daisy?"

"My brother's tales precede me, then," Wenham sighed.

"I'm afraid so," Billy replied, chuckling. He waved a studiously careless hand in Bean's general direction. "My man, Sergeant Bean."

Bean smirked and mumbled something under his breath. Wenham was fairly sure of what the Sergeant had said, but for some reason felt the need to push the point. "What was that, Sergeant?"

"I said, 'Thank you Major Tosser' to the Major, sir," Bean replied, meeting Wenham's steady gaze squarely.

Wenham's whole face showed surprise, despite knowing a little of the history between these men--how close-knit they were, how some lines separating officers from enlisted men had been blurred or even dropped in Boyd's unit. Must be true then, he thought as he realized that the Major was not angry, but actually seemed quite amused by the whole thing. "I beg your pardon, sir, but is that acceptable?"

"No, Commander, it most certainly is not acceptable," Boyd replied, chuckling.

Wenham's eyebrows rose. "I see..." he said slowly.

Bean smirked, but stood and saluted. "I apologize, sir. Sometimes my mouth runs away with me."

"And I suspect that sometimes is rather more like all the time," Wenham replied lightly.

"He's known you two minutes and he already knows what you're about, son. I'd be careful round him, I would," Billy said, grinning.

"You don't have to be careful, sir. If you'll pardon me saying, sir, you outrank him. You can do or say whatever the hell you want, sir."

Billy rolled his eyes. "Bugger off, Sergeant."

"Yes, sir!"

"Not too far, mate," Billy called.

Bean waved acknowledgement over his shoulder as he left the room.

"What's the RAF doing in the offices of the head of MI6, Commander?"

"I think you can call me Wenham. Or Dave. Just leave off the 'Crazy,' won't you?" Wenham said, a small smile curving his mouth.

Billy nodded. "Are you with us, then, Wenham?"

"In a manner of speaking, Major Boyd, yes," McKellen said before Wenham could answer. He glanced around the room. "Where's Bean?"

"Down the hall, sir," Billy said.

"Why?"

"He gets bored very easily, sir," Billy replied, deadpan.

Wenham managed to turn his chuckle into a cough as McKellen stared, unsmiling, at Boyd.

Billy stared back impassively for several seconds before smiling. "I'll just get him, then, sir."

"You do that," McKellen said, his voice still stern. The effect was ruined as the trace of a smile touched his lips.

"Commander," Boyd acknowledged as he moved toward the door.

"Mrs. Woodrich, have Matthew up, won't you?" McKellen said as the door closed behind Boyd.

"Certainly, sir. And Major Boyd?"

"When he and Sergeant Bean return, show them in straight away," the Brigadier directed before waving Wenham before him. "Commander, I have some people I'd like you to meet."

Wenham smiled at Mrs. Woodrich as he began to move toward McKellen's door.

*********

Boyd stepped into the hallway and looked for the nearest fire escape. Bean hated to be indoors when he could be out. It came from working too many years in a crowded factory. The only thing that kept his longtime friend inside was a large, foamy pint. Boyd climbed out onto the fire escape and found Bean, fag in hand, staring out over Horse Guards Avenue. He knew his friend did not even notice the traffic below, his mind was focused on what was occurring inside. He moved to stand next to Bean, his small, neat hands resting on the rail.

"Bill."

"Sean."

"They ready, then?"

"It's time."

Bean nodded and took a deep drag. He handed the fag to Boyd, who also took a long drag before dropping the butt and extinguishing it under his boot.

"'S not good, Bill..." Bean muttered as he studied the resulting ash stain. "Fuck."

"It'll be fine," Boyd said calmly.

Sean studied his old friend's face and eyes closely for a long moment. "Billy..."

Boyd shook his head and smiled a little. "It'll be fine, Sean. We have to go, they'll be waiting for us now."

Bean cursed under his breath, nodded curtly and turned to head back inside.

Billy looked back down at the stain. When he'd been young, an elder neighbor had often watched Billy and his older sister Margaret while first their parents, then their Gran had gone on errands. She'd taught them both how to read tea leaves and ash stains. "Fuck," he murmured at the stain. The last thing he wanted to see before a mission such as the one they were about to go on was a clear message of death in the remnants of the fag. "Fuck," he said louder. Someone was going to die.

*********

Matt straightened his shoulders and pushed the door open. He wasn't sure what McKellen was playing at by calling him up here, but he was relieved that he was getting to meet the men who would be going after Dominic. Everyone turned to him and he nodded to Serkis and Weaving before glancing at the two other men in the room. Both tall and slender, one with dark hair and olive skin and one with pale skin and red hair. He didn't know either. "Sir."

"Matthew," McKellen replied. "I'd like you to meet these men."

"Very good, sir," Matt said, nodding.

"On your right is..." the Brigadier began. He was interrupted as the door opened and an angry-looking Sergeant stomped in and came to attention. He looked very familiar, but Matt couldn't quite place him. Next, a small man entered and Matt's jaw dropped as he instantly recognized him. "Sergeant Boyd!"

Billy's head jerked up in surprise. He hadn't been called Sergeant in over twelve years. He met Matt's excited gaze, took in the sharp features, and then his excellent memory kicked in to gear. "Monaghan, right?"

Matt was startled. He hadn't expected Boyd to remember him -- not from so long ago and such an inauspicious meeting. "Yes. Matt Monaghan."

Billy smiled. "Right. And the other little troublemaker was Dominic, yes?"

"Ah yes," Bean said, remembering. "The market down the Yangste."

Matt shook his head, still embarrassed. "That's right. You rescued us."

Sean chuckled. "If you want to call it that. And what is young Dominic up to these days, then?"

Matt looked down.

"Ah," Billy said as understanding dawned. "Needs rescuing again, does he?"

"In a manner of speaking," McKellen answered. "He's in Germany. We need him here."

"That simple, eh?" Billy said, smirking. "So, RAF, here, is the pilot," he said gesturing to Wenham, "I assume he is going to drop Bean, Bloom, Urban and me behind enemy lines?"

"Serkis as well," McKellen said evenly.

" _What_?" Andy squawked, his eyes comically wide. "Sir, I can't go to _Germany_!"

"You really impressed Field Marshall Hatton yesterday," the Brigadier said, shaking his head and sighing.

"Hatton?" Andy had no idea who that was. Or what he had to do with Andy having to jump into Germany and get his arse shot off. He was sure Dom was a nice enough bloke, but...

"That would be my C.O.," Bloom supplied, helpfully.

"What? Sir, I informed him that Bloom was needed for a higher priority mission. Just like you said..."

"Yes, Andrew, you did. Verbatim. You _know_ you shouldn't have done."

"He didn't want to let Bloom go, sir. Wanted to make a big deal out of it, the starchy prick!"

"All the more reason for that ever elusive control over your mouth, Andrew," McKellen said, glaring at his subordinate. "Hatton wants to 'have a discussion' with you, as he puts it." He sighed heavily. "You make it harder for me to help you each time, Andrew, and now I have to send you on a mission to Germany to protect you from yet another court-martial."

Andy hung his head. He'd been on his way to a court-martial when McKellen had literally plucked him from the talons of the brass. They'd been trying to get him back since then, but McKellen knew he had gold with the gregarious and irreverent Londoner and did his best to keep Andy on the straight and narrow. Andy could care less about himself, but he was ashamed at the way he repaid the effort McKellen always put out for him. "Yes, sir."

"Now," McKellen said briskly, as he turned away from Serkis, "Wenham--you, Serkis and Bloom will be flying into Malta this afternoon for Lieutenant Urban. Your plane has been refueled and..."

"Just one question, sir," Billy broke in, firmly.

"What is it, Major?"

"Why aren't we all going to Malta, sir? One trip seems the best all the way round when you think on it. We go in, get Karl, and then straight on to Germany while we still have darkness as a cover."

McKellen nodded. "Very well, Major, you and Bean will accompany the rest of the group." Boyd was shrewd and intelligent and many other things besides -- everything McKellen believed a good leader should be.

"God speed, gentlemen," Weaving said from his place at the side of the desk.

"Yes, good hunting," McKellen added as he, Weaving and Monaghan were bade farewell.

After the men had left the office, Matt turned to McKellen. "Will they be enough, Ian?"

"We can but hope, Matt," McKellen replied quietly. He glanced back at Weaving. "Is the message being broadcast at regular intervals?"

Hugo smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "By our American friends, sir."

McKellen steepled his fingers. "Excellent. Keep me apprised."


	5. Chapter 5

30 April 1942, 3 miles west of Valletta, Malta

Dirt kicked up into Second Lieutenant Karl Urban's face as a bullet tore into the ground in front of him. He shook his head, blinking his eyes repeatedly, as he cursed under his breath. He heard the Commanding Officer of his unit, Colonel Andrew Lesnie, mutter 'fuckin' Nazis' as he also tried to get dirt out of his eyes. Lesnie was a tough bastard who never asked any of his troops to do anything he wouldn't; in fact, he was the man feeding ammunition into Urban's weapon right now. The other soldiers who'd been close had been killed, or wounded, so Lesnie had slid down the slight incline and picked up the heavy ammunition belt himself.

Lesnie slapped Urban's shoulder to let the younger man know he was loaded and Karl smiled as he sighted the hill across from them. Gunners further to his right were spraying the hillside, sometimes getting lucky with their shots. The Germans were more worried about helping their beleaguered compatriots then the occasional burst of gunfire from Urban. Therein lay their mistake, as Karl had been raised on demolitions and bombs, and had learned that being patient and methodical got the best results. 'Think you can stay in my sights this long, then, do you?' he thought as he thumbed back the safety. He aimed left and high of the targets to account for wind and distance and gently squeezed the trigger, watching three men fall and writhe on the ground before moving his sight further to the right, targeting the next batch of Germans. His idea was to herd them to the right and into the fire of his men further down the hill. It was working brilliantly because if they tried to go left, he fired directly on them.

He didn’t spare a thought for those men, whether they had families or lovers, what they might have done before the war, how old or young they were. That would come later, in his dreams, the faceless bodies reaching out for him, waking him and leaving him drenched in sweat; for now he had no thought except keeping them from hurting any more of his mates.

There was an unofficial cease-fire as a plane flew dangerously low over their heads. Surprised voices and shouts could be heard on both sides as the plane’s ungainly approach to Valletta was tracked.

"Who the fuck flies that low in a place like this?" said Sergeant Sala Baker, who had crawled over to Urban's side during the cease-fire, forgetting to add the "Sir" in his awe over the pilot's obvious insanity.

"Fucked if I know, Sala," Karl replied distractedly to his childhood friend as he sighted the hill again. If the Germans wanted to give him uncontested shots, he would take them.

Baker took over the ammo belt, freeing Lesnie, and the two worked together in silence with the ease of longtime mates. Soon enough return fire started again.

*********

Karl reached into his uniform pocket and pulled out a rag to wipe his face. It was so dirty that all it did was spread the grime and sweat around rather than getting it off, but he didn't care. The Germans had stopped their direct offensive fire as dusk began falling approximately thirty minutes ago, and he was exhausted. They'd been repelling German advances for four days straight, and that was only part of what he'd been doing. While his countrymen were getting their well-deserved rest, he was out planting surprises for any Germans who'd had the idea they could surprise the unit under cover of darkness.

He sighed deeply, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against packed dirt slippery with sweat and blood. It was almost time for him to begin his nightly rounds. He was getting to the point where he truly wondered if he wouldn't blow himself to pieces as he was laying his devices, but there was nothing for it. He sighed again as he heard footsteps behind him.

"Excellent job today, Urban," Colonel Lesnie said, laying his hand on Karl's back. "Now, go on back to base and get cleaned up."

Karl's head jerked up. "Sir?"

"You've got orders. Apparently your indispensable skills are necessary elsewhere."

"Yes, sir," he said, pushing himself up from the ground and stretching for the first time in hours. He shook his head, wondering where else was so important.

"I'm sorry to be losing you _again_ , Karl," Lesnie said warmly.

"Thank you, sir," Karl said, smiling slightly as he turned and made for the jeep waiting to take him back to base.

*********

30 April 1942, Base Command, Valletta, Malta

Sean rolled his eyes at Billy as Orlando performed a lovely tap dance in front of everyone. Okay, maybe not a tap dance, but if the boy kept fidgeting, Sean was going to fucking kill him. Captain Serkis was watching, and though the man acted irreverent, Bean was sure his sharp gaze didn't miss much -- those blue eyes were too intense for some chatty Southie with more than one screw loose.

"Be still ye great Sassenach," Boyd commanded.

Bloom attempted to comply with the order, but not quite ten seconds later he was rolling up on the balls of his feet again. Serkis and Wenham sniggered, and Bean sighed, dramatically deep. Boyd said something else, low and firm, and Orlando immediately went loose. It was as if the man's body had automatically obeyed an order even though consciously Bloom showed no sign of even hearing it.

Andy's eyes narrowed as he watched the interaction. He looked up and smirked when he found Bean’s attention on him. Sean winked at the Captain and then schooled his features into a careful blankness. Andy snorted, quite unintentionally, and was rewarded with Boyd’s attentions for a moment before he looked down and away from the Major’s intense gaze. “Excuse me, sir,” he mumbled, missing the pointed look that passed from Boyd to Bean.

*********

On the drive back to Valletta, Karl considered his situation. He was fine with getting a rest, and didn't he just deserve one, but these were his men. He'd grown up with half of them and his C.O. was gold, in his opinion. The only officer he'd want to leave this one for was Captain--Major now--he corrected himself, Boyd, his C.O. in North Africa last year. But Boyd's team had been disbanded after a mission in Tobruk had gone badly, and Karl had been sent back to his original unit. He didn't want some chair-warming sonofabitch telling him what to do, not after having the two most hands-on leaders in the war in the thick with him. He'd find a way to get back here, soonest, and that was a fact.

The jeep dropped Karl in front of his tent, as per his request. He entered and shed his dirty uniform. Wrapping his thin bathrobe around himself, he shuffled to the showers. The water was cold, but he didn’t care; it jolted some clarity into him. He scrubbed his body and hair vigorously with sand; they’d run out of soap ten days ago and the Germans had sunk or foundered every British ship that attempted to supply the troops. They’d discovered, however, that sand worked just as well in most cases. He ran his hands through his short hair several times making an attempt to appear presentable.

Five minutes later, he was back in his tent and getting a clean and pressed uniform out of a cramped closet. Five minutes after that, he was on his way to headquarters.

*********

Bloom hadn’t moved since Boyd had uttered that command ten minutes ago, and for as much as he’d been fidgeting before, that was amazing. Serkis wondered what Boyd had said to the young officer. It hadn’t been in English, of that he was sure. He watched Boyd move toward the desk, presumably to ask after the tardy lieutenant.

The door swung open. A tall man in a uniform too big for him entered and came to attention. “Lieutenant Urban reporting, sir,” the man barked as he saluted.

“We’re looking for _Second_ Lieutenant Urban,” Bean said haughtily.

Karl looked around the room and his eyes shone huge and suspiciously bright for a moment before he got himself under control. “Then you’ve come to the right place, Beanie Boy.”

Boyd grinned as he stepped toward Urban. “Karl.”

“Bill.” Karl hugged Billy tightly, but it seemed like a dream. He hadn’t seen any of his SAS unit since Tobruk, and he was just too bloody tired to fully process this amazing turn of events.

He felt a strong grip on his shoulder and looked up to meet Bean’s craggy grin and twinkling eyes. “I see you still carry your same baggage around with you, Billy,” Karl joked.

Boyd laughed delightedly and released Urban. “A bit beat up about the edges, yes, but still holds all me shite.”

“And what an excessive amount of shite that is,” Bean grumbled as he wrapped his long arms around Karl.

Laughter swept the room. Wenham hadn’t even been trying not to enjoy the interchange, but Serkis finally gave in to his mirth. He glanced over at Bloom, who he’d assumed would be sharing in the amusement. Interestingly, Bloom wasn’t smiling at all; wasn’t even looking over at Urban. He was focused on the door, his face creased with a strange combination of pained patience and blankness.

“Bloom, go with Urban and help him pack. Meet us in the hangar in twenty minutes,” Billy commanded, pulling Bean back to the main group as the lieutenants walked stiffly and formally from the tent.

“I thought you all were mates,” Andy said, gesturing after them. “What’s that about, then, eh?”

“They didn’t part on the best of terms, sir,” Bean replied, shrugging. “They’ll be right as rain by the time we’re ready to leave here.”

“Are you certain? We can’t have that kind of…”

“They’ll be fine,” Boyd cut in. “Wenham, you set?”

“Yes, sir, we’ve been topped up and the extra provisions have been stocked. We’re a go on your word, sir.”

Boyd nodded curtly. “Excellent. Let’s check our packs and ‘chutes once more. Bloom and Urban can check theirs en route.”

Andy groaned to himself. He knew what he’d find; just like every other time he’d checked in his gear pack, nothing would be missing nor in the wrong place. His parachute would have sharply folded creases, with strings laid out to perfection. About the fourth time Boyd had ‘suggested’ that they ‘check their packs and ‘chutes,’ Andy had decided that Boyd and Bean had some sort of unspoken system wherein, at seemingly random times, they took it upon themselves to torture everyone in the group for no reason at all, other than the fact that they were fucking obnoxious cunts of course, by having them do fucking busywork. He muttered and cursed under his breath all the way to the plane.

*********

Karl walked ahead of Orlando all the way back to his quarters. Neither of them said a word as he pulled open the door and stood to the side to allow the other man into his tent. There was only silence as he stepped in himself and shut the door quietly. Then, finally, their eyes met and held.

Karl swallowed hard and Orlando’s gaze slipped down to watch the motion of his Adam’s apple before lifting again. “Karl, I…”

He got no further. Karl stepped over and covered Orlando’s mouth with his own, their lips mashing violently together; teeth clicking as tongues dueled. The brutal kiss lasted several moments before Karl pulled back, breath rasping into Orlando’s mouth.

Orlando nipped Karl’s full lower lip. “We’ve got fifteen minutes, master blaster. Think we can make it?”

Karl laughed, pressing his forehead against Orlando’s before leaning in for another, softer, kiss. “God but I missed you.”

Orlando’s fingers moved to unbutton the oversized uniform. “You’ve lost so much weight…”

“No time,” Karl sighed, reluctantly grabbing his lover’s hands. “We can’t show up rumpled and stained, Orlando.”

“What if we aren’t?” Orlando said throatily as he crouched down low, careful not to put his knees on the floor.

Karl’s eyes shut tightly and a low moan burst from his lips as he was instantly and completely hard. Orlando unbuttoned and unzipped him and even before he had fully sprung loose, he was being sucked into his lover’s warm, wet mouth. Karl bit back his cry as Orlando took him deep and began swallowing. There just wasn’t time for variety or technique and Karl didn’t care. He’d not expected to have this again, except in dreams, until after the war at best. It wasn’t longer than a minute before he was coming, his fingers digging into his lover’s shoulders with the intensity of his orgasm.

Orlando gently continued sucking until Karl was spent before he stood and ran the back of his hand down Karl’s cheek. Karl nuzzled into that hand before sinking down on his heels. He made quick work of Orlando’s buttons and zip and pulled him free of his confining pants; stroking him a few times with calloused hands, as Orlando threw his head back, his teeth bared. Karl opened his mouth, and starting with just the tip of his lover’s dripping cock, he began to rock gently, taking more of Orlando’s length in on every forward motion. Soon, Orli began to thrust, his hips meeting Karl’s movements until he was being taken to the root in his lover’s throat. Karl swallowed and hummed around Orlando’s cock, drawing out his shuddering release. He suckled until Orli was dry and then gave a final swipe with his tongue as he let his lover slip from his mouth.

He stood and they kissed lightly, just enough to taste the other, before pulling back. They smiled as they tucked themselves back into their uniforms, silently thanking Billy for the few minutes of privacy he’d afforded them. Now it was time to get back to reality.

*********

Andy had just repacked for the last fucking time, damn their contrary arses. If they said to check anything again, he’d take the bloody court-martial. Had it been twenty minutes yet? Because he was going to kill Sergeant Sean Fucking Bean if he didn’t stop laughing at him with his glinting green eyes.

Wenham had started one of his engines and Boyd was helping the pilot through his pre-flight check. Where the fuck were Bloom and Urban? How fucking long did it take someone to throw a uniform and some fucking boots into a fucking bag anyway?

He turned to see the two lieutenants climbing into the plane. ‘About bloody time gents,’ he thought as Bean shut and latched the door. They strapped themselves into the seats opposite him, their heads bent together. There was no tension now, only smiles, and his eyes narrowed as he studied them.

Unexpectedly, Bean dropped into the seat beside him.

“What?”

“Nothing, sir,” Bean said, smirking. “You look like you’re thinking powerful hard on what’s to come and I thought I’d distract you a bit.”

‘I just bet,’ Andy thought. “It isn’t the mission.”

“What then?”

“It’s Bloom and Urban. They couldn’t even greet each other civilly, and now they’re best mates? I can’t buy it,” he said, mostly to see how Bean would react.

“Well, sir,” Bean replied, his grin spreading wide as he leaned into Andy’s space. “It’s like you and me, see? We don’t get along then we do, yeah? Nothing else to it.”

“It’s hardly the same, Sergeant,” Andy spluttered, caught completely off his guard.

“You’re right, sir,” Bean said, nodding gravely. “It couldn’t possibly be the same.” With that, he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, his long legs kicking out in an attempt to sprawl in the confined space. One foot caught Bloom, and he and Urban broke from their intimate conversation, straightening up and glancing about furtively like schoolboys. His other foot came to rest warmly against Andy’s calf. Sean smiled to himself; he had the upper hand on Serkis right now, even if he wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to keep it.

Andy caught the look of tenderness that had passed between Bloom and Urban before Bean’s jostling had separated them. His eyebrow peaked as he looked first at them, then at Sean’s other foot where it snugged against his leg. He wasn’t sure what, exactly, was going on here, but Bean now wore, for all his alleged relaxation, an insufferably smug look. One that clearly told Andy he’d been outmaneuvered somehow. ‘Not for long, mate,’ he thought, accepting the silently offered challenge. ‘I’ll have you and your mysteries, just you wait and see.’


	6. Chapter 6

30 April 1942 Marburg an der Lahn, Germany, 293 miles SE of Berlin

Dominic woke abruptly, his eyes darting around the shadowed room. It took him several long moments but finally he remembered he’d made it to his intended destination. He was ensconced in a wine cellar, as safe as he was likely to get while still in Germany. He sat up and wiped a shaking hand over his face, sighing heavily as he leaned back against the cool stone wall. He’d been dreaming of China again; of being lost with Matty in a country where neither of them had known enough of the language to get help; of realizing that there was no way they could get back to their family; of Sergeant Boyd coming to their rescue. He hadn’t thought of Sergeant William Boyd, Scots Guard 2nd Battalion, in years. The memory of the man’s face was blurry and faded now; only incredibly green eyes and a perfect fucking bow mouth stood out clearly. That mouth had featured prominently in young Dominic Monaghan’s fantasies for years afterward.

He shook his head. Surely he wasn’t really imagining Sergeant Boyd was going to come riding to the rescue again twelve years later? He was no longer a naïve, impressionable sixteen year old and he sure as hell didn’t believe in knights in shining armour anymore. After what he’d seen, and done, during the past ten years, he didn’t believe in much of anything except that Adolph Hitler was completely mad and had to be removed from power at any cost. He’d worked hard to get himself in a position of trust within the Nazi Party, inside Hitler’s own inner circle even, to ensure he could do just that. Three days ago all of that had crashed down on him. Someone had found out what he’d been doing and had turned him in for a spy.

He checked his watch, 1800, and sighed again as he slowly got to his feet. He needed food and information and he certainly wasn’t going to get that in the cellar.

*********

30 April 1942 Marburg an der Lahn, Germany 

"Sturmbannfuhrer Reinhardt of the SD to see you, Herr von Hueber."

"Show him to the study, if you would, please," Hans-Peter von Hueber directed his manservant as he laid his napkin on the table. "Apologies for the interruption," he soothed as he got up to leave the dinner he'd been sharing with some friends.

He heard the whispers as he exited, knew they were wondering why the secret service was showing up at his door and how, if he had earned the displeasure of the Führer in some way, they could successfully distance themselves from him. Nothing like the spirit of camaraderie to unite the Reich, he thought, his lips curling into a sneer as he walked down the hall to his library.

"Mein Sturmbannfuhrer," von Hueber said warmly as he entered the study.

Reinhardt had been facing the fireplace on the far wall and when he turned, Hans-Peter had to hold in the worst of his gasp. The man had obviously been beaten very recently, the left side of his face still swollen and bruised horribly. "You are friends with Dominic Monaghan."

Hans-Peter's eyes widened. "Yes?"

"Would you say that he was a patriot, von Hueber?"

Hans-Peter had the impression that it didn't matter what he said. Reinhardt obviously had it in for Monaghan and would twist sentiments to suit his purpose. "He and Erich stayed when the rest of the family left for England. He has been decoding and giving valuable information to the Führer for several years now. I would say, in those instances, that yes, I would consider him a patriot."

"If he was giving valuable information to us could he not also have been giving it to England?" Reinhardt demanded, his good eye narrowed and bright with hatred.

"That is a possibility when one has two nationalities to consider during wartime," von Hueber replied, hoping Dominic would forgive him. "I confess I do not know what this is about, Sturmbannfuhrer. What is it that you wish from me?"

"Information, von Hueber."

A shiver went down Hans-Peter's spine. "I will be glad to give it." He gestured toward the small bar. "May I offer you a drink? I have some French Cognac, if you like. Or some soda water..."

"Cognac?"

"Some 1928 Rémy Martin, sir."

Reinhardt smirked. "A bottle for my drive home would be most appreciated."

"Of course, sir. Would you like a glass now, while we have our chat?"

"That would be fine."

Hans-Peter poured two snifters half full of amber liquid and took one to the other man, gesturing him into a large wing-back chair near the fire. Once he had seen to his visitor, he sat in the opposite chair and took a fortifying sip. "Now then, Sturmbannfuhrer, what was it you wanted to discuss?"

Reinhardt swallowed his own drink loudly. "Quite good."

As if you would know the difference between the 1928 and the 1942 that I just served, you classless fool, von Hueber thought bitterly, even as he smiled ingratiatingly. "Quite."

"Monaghan is an English spy, von Hueber."

Hans-Peter spit out his drink, choking quite spectacularly. "Not Dominic Monaghan, surely!" he cried as he recovered. "He has always been a steadfast supporter, sir! Why, he has a Party number under 500!"

"I am aware of that!" Reinhardt snapped defensively.

"Of course you are, sir. I never meant to insinuate otherwise," von Hueber said placatingly.

"Has Monaghan been in this area recently?"

"Why, yes, Sturmbannfuhrer, he was here only two weeks ago, for my father's birthday. The Führer, himself, came to shake my father's hand and bid him thanks for his long and staunch support of the Party. The Führer also spoke for several minutes with Monaghan, sir. They seemed quite involved."

Reinhardt grimaced as he was reminded of Monaghan’s position. He was on a ‘prove it or visit the Eastern Front permanently’ leash right now and he didn't like it at all. Nor was he fond of having to deal with von Hueber, the aristocratic son of a whore, and others of that standing. "I'm sure they did," he said before finishing the cognac.

"Would you like another?"

"No, thank you. I must be going." But I will be watching you, he finished silently.

"Let me get a bottle of '28 for you, Sturmbannfuhrer. One moment, if you please." Hans-Peter left the room and descended the stairs to his liquor holdings, underneath the house proper. He pulled a chain to illuminate the room and rummaged around for a moment before realizing the bottle was gone from its place.

"Looking for this?"

Von Hueber whirled around to see Dominic Monaghan standing in his cellar, bottle in hand. "Fuck sake, Dom! You took ten years off my life!" he cried as he clutched his chest.

"Sorry." He sounded anything but to von Hueber, however.

"Do you know who's upstairs in my study, Monaghan? A fucking Sicherheinstdiest Sturmbannfuhrer is who!"

"Calm down, Hansel," Dom soothed. "If you're upset and flustered when you get back upstairs he'll know something's happened."

"Something _has_ happened, Dominic! They've caught you out and now we'll all be watched and questioned. He came right out and said, ‘Monaghan is a spy!’ For God's sake, man!"

"Did he ask for information?"

"Of course he did! Dom..."

Dom didn’t have time to explain. He needed to know who and what he up against. His friend would have to wait. "Name?"

"Reinhardt."

Dom forcefully blew out a breath. "I didn't figure it would take him long to get out of the interrogation chair."

'So that's what happened to him,' von Hueber thought, his face wavering between appreciation and horror as he realized what Dom had done. "I'm going to take this upstairs and get him out of here. Then I'm going to see to my guests. We’ll talk later."

Monaghan nodded as von Hueber left the room, turning the light off as he went. He knew he’d put his friend at risk by coming here but there was no other place he could have gone. He sighed and pulled a bottle from a space behind the set of racks. He turned it over in his hands, reading the label. _Rémy Martin, 1942_. He smiled as he laid it back in its place.

*********

30 April 1942 Marburg an der Lahn, Germany

Hans-Peter slipped down the stairs to the cellar again. He had to find out what had happened, if Dom even knew. He tapped on the door before opening it, giving his friend a chance to put his weapon away before he came into the room. He smirked as he entered, seeing Dom still holding his Luger pointed at the door.

“It never hurts to be careful,” Monaghan said, replacing the weapon in his holster only after von Hueber was entirely in the room with the door closed.

The safety is still off, Hans-Peter thought, his smirk fading as he looked at his friend. "My God, Dominic, you look…”

“I know what I look like,” Dom cut in irritably, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. He’d been running under the radar for the past three days, catching the odd hour or two of sleep when he could but always on high alert. What was he supposed to look like?

Hans-Peter didn’t take offence. “Did you come here because of the message, Dom?”

“Message?”

“The Americans have been broadcasting a radio message twice an hour since yesterday evening. It couldn’t be for anyone but you.”

“Why would the Americans be sending a message for me?” Dom’s brows drew together.

“I’m sure it was to throw us off the scent. You know we have a different group of cryptographers working on American broadcasts than we do on British. I only saw this because Walther’s people couldn’t figure it out. Why would they? ‘Bernie must return to India’ would mean nothing coming from the Americans, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Walther’s involved.” Dom’s mouth tightened.

“Of course he’s involved, Dom. He is the head of the SD, remember? The whole reason we’ve even been able to accomplish what we have so far? The bloody thing was couriered to his desk after the fifth repetition and, convinced the Americans had some major movement planned, whole offices of people were diverted to trying to figure out what it meant. He finally gave up and telephoned me, asking if I couldn’t see if it meant anything from the British perspective.”

“How long did it take you to guess, Hansel?”

“Four hours.”

“What clinched it?”

Von Hueber smiled. “Ironically, I was about to give up but I found myself thinking, ‘If Dom were here, we could work this bastard out. If Dom were…wait a minute! When we would ‘explore India’ as children, Matt used to call you Bernie and our ‘India’ was always my estate.’ At that point, I telephoned Walther and told him I had nothing. Then I began to keep an eye out for your arrival.” He chuckled and reached over to grasp Dom’s arm. “And you _still_ managed to sneak past me.”

Dom smiled, then turned and walked toward one of the racks. “You’ve never yet been able to catch me, Hansel.”

“No,” Hans-Peter replied, a shadow passing over his face. “But there is always a first time, Dom.”


	7. Chapter 7

30 April 1942 Marburg an der Lahn, Germany, 293 miles SE of Berlin

Dom smiled at Hans-Peter’s words. _There is always a first time, Dom_. It had gotten competitive between the boys when they were younger. Dom had been the reigning champion of sneaking about since he’d been six, and he held the title in two countries. “I suppose you are right, Hansel. Even the cleverest of foxes get torn by the huntsmen’s packs eventually.”

Von Hueber snorted. “A fine analogy, Dominic.”

Dom grinned lopsidedly over his shoulder as he bent to pick up a bottle. “It’s true though, isn’t it? I thought I was camouflaged completely and yet here I am, forced into hiding in your cellar.”

“You never asked what the message was about, Dom.”

Dom’s eyebrow rose. “I assumed if you had something further that you would eventually get around to telling me.”

“I was hoping you would be able to tell _me_ something about it.” Von Hueber sighed. “This is starting to sound as if I’m going to turn you in, doesn’t it?”

“If it were anyone but you, Hansel, I would be worried,” Dom said, straightening. He went to a small cupboard on the wall behind the liquor racks and opened it, taking out a corkscrew. He brought both over to von Hueber.

Hans-Peter took them, glancing at the label. Rémy Martin ’42. He sat down and then carefully opened the bottle, saluting Dom before taking a large swig. Surprise showed clearly on his face as he realized this was no ’42 vintage and then he began laughing. “Bernie, you clever old fox, you may have just saved the war -- for this bottle of ’28, at any rate.”

Dom laughed as he joined his friend on the floor, accepting the bottle from Hans-Peter and taking a hearty swallow before handing it back. “So, the message was ‘Bernie must return to India?’ Was that the exact wording?”

“Yes, but whether or not you actually heard the message, the question is why did they want you to come here?”

“Do you have a radio?”

“Of course. But with Reinhardt showing up, well, we shouldn’t be using it from here, Dominic. They’ll be listening for that.”

Monaghan nodded. “Most likely. That being said, MI6 has got a plan or they wouldn’t have sent the message in the first place. I want to let them know I am here.”

Hans-Peter sat up straight. “You think they might be trying to pick you up here?”

“It’s a possibility,” Dom replied, shrugging elegantly with one shoulder. “Or they might be trying to send instructions for escape by foot. Either way I’ll need your radio.”

Hans-Peter swallowed convulsively. If Dominic used the radio, Reinhardt or some other security thug would certainly come for him. He had very limited options and none of them were looking very good right now.

Dom said nothing as he watched his friend struggle with his decision. There was nothing he could do to ease the worries in Hans-Peter’s mind at the moment. He simply waited.

“I can’t stay here, Dominic.”

“I know, Hansel,” Dom said gently.

“How do I…” Hans-Peter trailed off, his eyes meeting Dom’s as his hands rose in a helpless gesture.

“You’ll still be working toward Hitler’s fall, only from England instead. There’s no question of whether Ian will offer you amnesty.”

Hans-Peter sighed heavily. “It’s just that you have two countries where you are equally comfortable, Dom. Germany is my home. What could I do in England? I would only be of limited help to them. I…”

“Contact Walther then,” Dom broke in. “Tell him that I am hiding in your wine cellar and I have no idea you are turning me in. Tell him that if he sends more security idiots around that I’ll be scared off and leave. Ask him if he wants me alive for interrogation or if you may have permission to kill me. But tell him you want to do it, not anyone else.”

Hans-Peter looked horrified and so offended by the suggestion that Dom had to fight back a smile.

“I can’t do that, Dominic!”

“Not even to keep yourself alive?

“I am an acceptable loss. You are not.”

“You’d be sacrificing yourself for nothing, Hansel. I’m already a loss.”

“No, Dom, you will still be able to play a major role from England, unlike me.”

“So you won’t turn me in.”

“No,” Hans-Peter said resolutely.

Dom met Hans-Peter’s frightened gaze steadily. “Get the radio Hansel. Let us find out what’s afoot."

*********

30 April 1942 Radio Communications Room, MI6 Building, London

Weaving looked down at the paper again. “Will he remember this, Matthew?” he asked doubtfully as he handed the paper back to Monaghan for sending.

Matt grinned widely. “If he doesn’t at first, he will for sure when he sees Major Boyd.”

*********

30 April 1942 Sicherheinstdiest Headquarters, Berlin

“Herr Schellenberg! There is a new message being broadcast repeatedly on American Radio. We think it might have to do with the ‘Bernie’ message!”

Walther Schellenberg took the paper from the young clerk and looked at it, just glad it didn’t say ‘Bernie Must Return to India.’ “How many times?”

“Twice already this past hour.”

Schellenberg took a longer look at the writing on the paper. “’Chopsticks Optional?’ What can it possibly mean?” He looked back up to the clerk. “Were there any transmissions coming in on that frequency relating to Bernie before this went out?”

Schellenberg shook his head and sighed heavily at the clerk’s blank look. Was it too much to ask that his men figure out for themselves that this ‘Bernie’ might make a reply to let his handlers know that they could send further instructions? It was going to be an even longer night.

*********

30 April 1942 Marburg an der Lahn

“Chopsticks optional, Dom?” Hans-Peter was clearly mystified.

Dom sat against the wall, rolling the empty cognac bottle unconsciously between his hands as he contemplated the message. Chopsticks optional, chopsticks optional…Sergeant Boyd’s perfect-for-fucking mouth resurfaced in Dom’s memory as he solved the riddle, and he pushed the image away with effort. “Remember we told you about the dinner honouring the soldiers who found Matty and me and brought us back to the hotel while we were in China?”

“I do remember that. You had a crush on Sergeant Boyd.”

Dom glared. “Yes, well, what’s _important_ about that night is that Sergeant Boyd made a disparaging remark about the English disregard for local customs. He noticed that only European utensils were on the tables and he leaned over to Sergeant Bean and said, ‘Chopsticks optional, then, mate.’”

“But what does it _mean_?”

“This is coming from Matt as he’s the only other one who would know about that. I think he’s trying to let me know someone’s coming for me, as specifically as he can with just a few words.”

“Sergeant Boyd, perhaps?”

“Right,” Dom said, snorting. “Sergeant Boyd to the rescue, again, eh?”

“Stranger things have happened,” Hans-Peter replied, smiling.

Dom shook his head. “Couldn’t be that lucky.”

“You’ve always been the luckiest man I’ve ever known, Dominic Monaghan.”

“Until four days ago, at any rate.”

Hans-Peter nodded. “Never thought it would come to this, my friend, but as you said before, even the cleverest of foxes meets its end.”

Dom didn’t smile this time. “You should get upstairs. The servants will be on the lookout for any strange behaviour from you.”

Hans-Peter stood and made his way to the door. There, he turned and looked down at Dom, who was still sat on the floor. “Thank you, Dominic.”

“For what?” Dom cocked his head.

“You’ve been in the field making decisions on a daily basis that involved your life, Dom. You wouldn’t be happy about leaving me behind, but if it came down to me or the mission to remove Hitler from power, it’s not much of choice, is it? I know this. So thank you.”

“You’re welcome, my friend,” Dom said as Hans-Peter closed the door behind himself.

*********

Over Munich, 1 hour outside of Marburg

“How far out do you want me to drop you, sir?”

“How close can you get us, Dave?”

Billy smiled as he said Dave’s name. He was co-pilot for the flight and over the past few hours, he and Wenham had turned on auto-pilot and kicked back in their seats, getting to know each other. He imagined Bean in the back, having to corral the proximity-heightened hormones of Urban and Bloom and chuckled.

Dave smiled. He wasn’t exactly sure what Boyd was amused by, but chances were it had something to do with the men in the cabin. He opened his mouth intending to make a cheeky comment about keeping decorum in the cockpit at all times, but was horrified to hear, “Are they lovers, sir?” come out instead. He paled and then flushed a deep red. There was no way to cover or back out after that. It wasn’t like he could pretend he’d only said something similar. When he finally chanced a look at Boyd, he saw the last thing he’d expected – amusement.

“They certainly act like it, don’t they?”

“They are, aren’t they?” Dave was even further mortified to hear himself ask. It sounded like his voice, but he seemed to have no control over it right now.

Billy’s amusement disappeared immediately. “Sodomy is a direct court-martial offence, Commander Wenham. I would be very careful about who you make such inquiries to and about in the future,” he said coldly.

“I…I’m sorry, sir, I have _no_ idea where that came from, I’m--”

“Stow it, Dave,” Billy said deliberately lightening his tone to get them back to safer ground.

“Thank you, sir,” Dave answered, subdued.

“How close do you think you can get us?” He asked again.

“You want in his neighbourhood or garden, sir?” Dave replied, confidence in his abilities obvious.

Boyd grinned wolfishly and pulled out the maps they’d brought with them. “Which do you think?”

A message came through their headphones. “Operation code is ‘Chopsticks Optional’ repeat ‘Chopsticks Optional.’ Do you copy?”

“Copy that and out,” Dave said.

The radio cut out and Dave turned to Billy, eyebrow raised. “Chopsticks optional, sir?”

Billy smiled, remembering that night and how Bean, Matt and Dominic had laughed at his comment. He hadn’t meant for the Monaghan boys to hear, but they’d been too close. He knew they hadn’t said anything about it or he and Bean would have gotten in trouble. “It was something I said in front of Monaghan a long time ago.”

Dave nodded.

“I’m going to inform the boys,” Billy said, unstrapping himself and stretching as he stood.

“See you in a bit, then, sir,” Dave said, taking the plane off auto-pilot as Billy opened the cockpit door to climb into the cabin.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part starts immediately after 5 and parallels 6 and 7.

_“he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, his long legs kicking out in an attempt to sprawl in the confined space. One foot caught Bloom, and he and Urban broke from their intimate conversation, straightening up and glancing about furtively like schoolboys. His other foot came to rest warmly against Andy’s calf. Sean smiled to himself; he had the upper hand on Serkis right now, even if he wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to keep it._

Andy caught the look of tenderness that had passed between Bloom and Urban before Bean’s jostling had separated them. His eyebrow peaked as he looked first at them, then at Sean’s other leg where it snugged against his leg. He wasn’t sure what, exactly, was going on here, but Bean now wore, for all his alleged relaxation, an insufferably smug look. One that clearly told Andy he’d been outmaneuvered somehow. ‘Not for long, mate,’ he thought, accepting the silently offered challenge. ‘I’ll have you and your mysteries, just you wait and see.’”

 

30 April 1942

Serkis looked back over at Bloom and Urban, making sure they understood he was watching them. Urban smirked and leaned forward slightly in his seat, holding out his hand to Serkis.

“We haven’t been formally introduced, sir. Second Lieutenant Karl Urban.”

Andy leaned forward and shook, noting the extra firm grip. “Captain Andy Serkis.”

“Interested in something over here?” Urban challenged, eyebrow raised, as he released Andy’s hand.

Bean shifted, turning his face slightly, so that Serkis couldn’t see his amusement. Leave it to Urban to bring everything out into the open.

“I must say that I am very interested in why you two could barely stand to be in the same room, but now are quite the bosom buddies. Care to enlighten me?”

“The sexual tension was too high,” Urban replied, grinning. “Once we make each other come so hard we can barely stand, it gets easier.”

Bean snorted and then shook his head, chuckling. Bloom rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. Urban sat back in his seat, still grinning widely.

“Thank you for the informative response, Lieutenant,” Serkis sneered, glaring at all of them for taking the piss. If they _were_ taking the piss. He really couldn’t tell, damn them.

“Not a problem, sir.”

“Your attitude is a problem, Urban,” Andy snapped, hating the hypocrisy immediately.

“This from the man who is on this plane one step ahead of his _second_ court-martial?” Bean said, false incredulousness carefully infused into his tone.

“Fuck you, Sergeant,” Andy retorted as he flopped back into his seat and looked at the blackness outside the window, determined to ignore everyone.

Urban looked at Serkis closely, a newfound bit of respect showing on his handsome face.

 

It didn’t take long for Andy to realize Bean had spread out again, leg pressing up against his. _Fucker’s doing it on purpose._ He gave Bean’s leg a not so gentle nudge but nothing happened. Hint untaken, Andy sighed deeply and began a stretch of his own; a stretch so wide and tight that his arms and legs shook from the tension. Bean grunted and withdrew from Andy’s wayward limbs.

Andy kept the smirk off his face, but when he opened his eyes, all three of the men were staring at him.

“Jumping with seizures like that is inadvisable, sir,” Karl said, solicitous concern written all over his face.

Andy blinked. “What the fuck?”

Bloom’s shoulders were shaking with restrained mirth, but when Bean snorted at Andy’s blank face, a burst of strangled laughter escaped and it was all over. Serkis simply watched as the other three men dissolved into deep and loud laughter until they were wiping tears from their eyes.

“I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’re all getting along so well.” Major Boyd’s sarcastic voice broke through the hilarity, and all four men turned to face him immediately.

“Sir,” they chorused together.

“Gear check, ladies,” he said, watching his men reach for their belts. “Is there a problem, Captain?” he asked coolly, seeing Andy glare at him and make no move toward getting out of his seat.

“Yes, Major,” Serkis said, realizing when he heard Bean mutter ‘fuck’ under his breath that he was in deep trouble but unable to stop the flow. “This ‘gear check’ every few hours is bollocks. You want to jerk me around, find another way. This is getting very old.”

Boyd’s face slipped effortlessly into a perfectly calm mask, even as he straightened to his full five foot six. “Captain Serkis,” he began, his voice low, silky and dangerous, “you will get out of your seat right bloody now and you _will_ check your gear, son. You either check your gear or you go without it. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” he replied, eyes wide. He had no doubt that if Major William Boyd ordered any one of the men watching to toss him out of the plane without a parachute, and then inform McKellen that he’d been lost in Germany during the mission, that they would carry out those orders without question.

Boyd addressed the group once Andy reached for his belt.

“Our operational code is ‘Chopsticks Optional.’ You will use this to identify yourself on the ground. Monaghan will know this phrase and be able to answer accordingly. Is this understood?”

Nods and “yes, sirs” were offered.

“We’ve got a hard road ahead of us so stay sharp.” And with that, Boyd marched smartly up to the cockpit door, opened it, climbed in and shut it behind him with the softest of clicks.

Andy felt a shiver ride his spine. So _that_ was Major Boyd, then. “Fuck all,” he murmured.

“You should see him when he’s angry,” Karl drawled.

*********

Dave put the plane on autopilot while Billy was getting strapped in to the co-pilot’s chair. Boyd nodded his thanks, but didn’t smile. Dave wondered what had taken so long in the cabin; whatever it had been didn’t look to have sat well with the Major.

“Sir?”

“Run down the plan for me, Wenham.”

Dave had come to understand in a very short time that Major Boyd, even though he had a lively and wicked sense of humour, had one of the strongest senses of duty and responsibility for the men under his command that Dave had ever seen. Maybe Serkis had put his foot in it again. He smirked and then complied with the softly spoken order. “I drop your crazy arses off in the vicinity of Marburg. You gather up the precious cargo. I then proceed to pick up whoever’s left at an LZ which will be broadcast to me mid-flight so as to give Jerry only a couple of hours notice to ambush you lot and/or shoot me from the skies.”

Boyd’s lips quirked, but Dave couldn’t tell whether it had been a smile or a sneer. “Ever thought about Special Forces, Wenham? You have the mentality for it.”

Dave honestly couldn’t tell if that had been a compliment or if it had been Boyd’s ‘subtle’ way of letting him know he was lucky to still be talking right now. “I have, occasionally. The Brigadier has called on me several times during the war for special missions. He’s never brought it up, though, and I’ve never been inspired to give up flying full time. When did you sign up for the SAS, sir?”

“I was recruited by Captain David Stirling in November ‘41. He asked me if I wouldn’t consider taking a wee trip into the desert with him one night later that month, explained to me the idea behind what he was trying to accomplish, and told me I had twelve hours to think on it.”

“How long did it take you to decide?”

Billy chuckled. “He had me from ‘behind enemy lines,’ Wenham. I’d long been arranging my own unit’s excursions, but they were for reconnaissance only at the time. We weren’t authorized to attack back then. Anyway, I asked if I could bring some mates along and bloody Davey-boy just grinned. ‘You bring whomever you want to the party, Billy-me-lad,’ he said, ‘just make sure they all know it’s volunteer only.’ Scots Guard had feckin’ apoplexy, five of us leaving at once.”

“Five?”

“Aye. Corporal John Hannah, Sergeants Bean and Gerard Butler, Lieutenant Ewan McGregor, and me.”

“The five of you were already a unit, weren’t you? That’s why you all left together.”

Billy nodded. “Quite the crew, we were. Even on that first mission which was bollocks from the word go. Christ, sixty-two of us left that night and only twenty-two made it back. Ours was the only unit returned whole. We thought we were done after that, but somehow Davey-boy got us another go ‘round.” A smile flitted across Boyd’s face. “We actually gained one that night — Orlando. Picked him up in the desert and the skinny Sassenach just never left. He stuck out the harassment and made his place with us. Balls of stone, that one.”

Wenham chuckled. “What about Urban?”

“That crazy Kiwi bastard didn’t come until later. December ‘41, I think he tracked us down. He and Orli’d worked together before the war, demolitions and such.” Billy shook his head. “Christ, what a crew, Wenham, you’ve never seen the like.”

Dave could believe it. “Are they still around, sir?”

“Butler is. He’s back in Glasgow with one leg, an arm that doesn’t fully work and a back that’s just about done in.” Boyd’s voice was mostly even, but the grin had left his face, and a trace of bitterness could he heard.

“Is he being cared for?”

“Aye,” Billy replied softly. “He’s married to my sister.”

“The others?”

“Died at Tobruk.”

“Ah.”

“We were well met on that mission--two dead and every one of us injured in some fashion or another. It wasn’t pretty.”

“I’d imagine not.”

Billy grunted. One could never imagine anything like what had happened to his team, his family. The constant crack of gunfire, the acrid stench of smoke and spent powder, his men being taken down one after another — Ewan’s chest exploding into bloody mist — Billy gave a short, hard shake of his head, dispelling the image he feared might haunt him until his last breath.

Dave watched and then cocked his head. “Yet here you are, sir, in the thick of it again. Why is that?”

“I’m a soldier. I go where I’m told to go, and try to carry out my orders to the best of my ability. That’s my job, my duty.”

“How do you justify this kind of a mission, though? Putting all of these lives at risk for one?”

Narrowed green eyes met his blue, taking his measure. He was looked over, through, and when Boyd opened his mouth, Dave figured he was about to be told to ‘Sod off, Air Mac.’

“There is no justification, Wenham. We don’t have that luxury here. If you really need something, consider this: If Dominic Monaghan gets to England alive, this mission will be a success because he has critical first-hand knowledge that could help defeat Hitler.”

“Even at the cost of your life? Mine? Theirs?” Dave demanded, gesturing back in the general direction of the cabin.

“Yes,” Boyd replied, matter-of-fact. “We serve the Crown, Wenham, whether we agree with the decisions it makes or not.”

Dave shook his head. “Such forthrightness. How did you ever get to be an officer, sir?”

“Battlefield promotion,” Boyd said with a soft snort. “Never expected I’d get beyond Sergeant.”

“I think I’d really like to hear that story someday, sir.”

“If we get through this, I’ll be sure to tell you over a round,” Billy replied, unstrapping himself. “Your shout, of course,” he added, sharing a brief smile with Dave.

Dave checked instruments and coordinates before looking back over at Boyd. “Rouse your troops, sir. God save the King and all that rot.”

Billy rolled his eyes and flipped Dave two fingers as he stood up and opened the cockpit door. “Keep the nose pointed up until you’re ready to land, son. If you can do that, everything else should be fine.”

Dave smiled but quickly turned sober again. “Good hunting, sir.”

“See you on the LZ, Wenham.”

“God willing,” Dave said quietly after Boyd had shut the door again. “God willing.”

Cabin 

Four pairs of eyes looked up as Boyd climbed into the cabin. He stood, face expressionless, chilly gaze examining each upturned face for a long moment. “We have twenty minutes to jump point. Gear up, check and report.”

Each man retrieved his pack and slipped it on. Serkis fully expected Bloom and Urban to buddy up but Urban came over to him and began to check his kit; Bloom and Bean teaming up on the other side of the plane. Bean then moved on to Boyd who’d donned his gear whilst the others were checking each other’s handiwork. Thumbs up from each signalled Boyd’s next speech.

“Serkis, you’re off second behind Bean. Until I tell you differently, from this moment on you are a fucking lemming. If Bean goes up a tree, you go up a tree. If he slogs through a mud pit, so do you. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Andy said, nodding. Watch Bean’s arse lead the way to the ends of the Earth until told different by Major Boyd – check; definitely doable.

“Accounting for wind drift, by the time we hit ground, we should be about a mile from ‘India.’ It’s getting pretty light out there and our canopies aren’t exactly neutral colours so cut it as close as you can before pulling your cords. If it looks like you’re heading for trees, take your chances with the touch and roll. _Don’t_ get stuck in a tree, lads. I don’t want to lose anyone to our own bullets, all right?”

Andy looked around, seeing Bloom and Urban nodding solemnly. Right, like any of these men would shoot each other just on the chance they might be discovered by some German guard. He’d like to see that—it would never happen.

“If we get separated, the rendezvous point is Monaghan’s familial estate, 21:00 hours tonight. Clear?”

“Clear!” Four voices called.

“Right, lads,” he said, gripping each of his men’s shoulders tightly in turn. “See you on the ground, then.”

*********

Andy had never jumped out of a plane before. Hell, he’d never even been _in_ a plane before yesterday. He’d imagined that he’d be terrified the entire time down but he was, in truth, absolutely entranced right now. The wind gusted against him, splitting around him, and seeing the land spread out before him was incredible even if it was rushing to greet him at dizzying speed. He was beginning to get worried at how close they were when he saw Bean’s ‘chute open and fill with air. He quickly pulled his own cords and felt the hard tug of his harness as the canopy filled. Looking down, he saw he was heading straight for a copse of trees. Fucking brass, he thought as he desperately jerked his leads until he was yards away from the trees, I should be at home in London, drinking and shaving Yanks’ money from them, not hoping I don’t get my arse shot off by enemy fire!

It seemed to take forever but he finally hit the ground, going to one knee and then his side and back with the force of his landing. He managed to hold in the ‘fuck _all_ that fucking _hurts_!’ as he felt a jarring, searing pain in his knee and leg but couldn’t quite keep in the groan. He felt strong hands pulling at his shoulders.

“Come on, mate, roll over for me.”

“I’m—oh _fuck_ that _hurts_ —not in the mood, Sergeant,” he managed to grate out.

“Great stupid Southie,” Bean chuckled, shaking his head, “I’m not that hot for your spectacular arse right now myself.” He pulled on the shoulder straps. “Got to get this off and get to shelter. Ready, then?”

“No,” Serkis groaned.

“On three. One, Two,” On two, Bean rolled him over, dipped his left shoulder and pulled off the strap. “Three.” On three, he did the same to Andy’s right side.

“Fucking _hell_ , Bean!” Serkis hissed.

“Aww, it’s over, you big girl’s blouse.”

“You fall from the sky with no real training and then have some would-be hero jerk your body hither and yon and see how you like it!”

Bean smirked down at Serkis until he realized the man’s kneecap was on the side of his knee joint. “Fuck, mate, no wonder it hurts.”

“What?” Andy tried to look.

“No worries, my son,” Bean said, pushing him back down. He quickly considered whether he could cover the ground necessary while carrying Serkis and then made his decision. “I can take care of it. Might hurt a bit, though.”

 

Sean had to hand it to Captain Serkis — the man had some bollocks. He hadn’t cried out when Sean had relocated the kneecap despite the fact that it had hurt him. Badly. He looked down at Serkis and sighed. “I can carry you. It’ll be bloody painful, but it’s that or I shoot you and leave your body for Jerry.”

Andy looked for sign that Bean was joking and saw none. “When you put it that way…”

Bean got down on one knee. “Up you get, then, mate.”

Serkis nodded and threw his abused body up against Bean’s chest. Sean put his arm under Andy’s bum and lifted, settling the other man as best he could over his shoulder before lurching to his feet with a grunt. “You could stand to lose some weight.”

“Say that to me again when I’m not in this particular position,” Andy muttered, wincing at every step Bean took. It was going to be a long walk.


	9. Chapter 9

1 May 1942 Frankfurt, 50 miles North of Marburg

Werner von Hueber was awakened from a sound sleep by the incessant ringing of his telephone. He considered ignoring it until he realized it was his private line.

“Yes?”

“I’m going to Majorca, Father.”

A cold shiver of dread worked its way down von Hueber’s spine. “You shouldn’t go, Hansel. It’s not a good time to travel.”

“We’ll be leaving tonight, Father,” Hans-Peter replied with a sigh. “I’ll let you know when I’ve arrived.”

Werner inhaled sharply, the dread settling in his stomach. “Hansel—“

“I have to go, Papa. I’ll speak to you soon.”

Werner hung up the phone and rubbed his forehead. When he’d discovered that his son’s involvement in a very successful spy ring was close to being uncovered, he’d arranged for Monaghan to be detained. Monaghan was the de facto leader of the group and he was also the only one who might withstand the interrogation chair until he could find a way to kill himself. Von Hueber had known Dominic Monaghan for the man’s entire life and he knew, of all the men and women in the ring, it was Monaghan who would make certain the others remained hidden. The only problem was that Dominic had never been told. For whatever reason the communiqué had not reached him and he’d gone on the defensive, substituting Reinhardt’s name for his on the translation and throwing a wrench into the plan. Now, it appeared, Monaghan had shown up at von Hueber’s estate, drawing even more attention from that thug, Reinhardt. Von Hueber sat, head cradled in hands until an idea, a way to save Hans-Peter from himself, came to him.

Marburg

Dom startled when the door opened with no warning, automatically pulling his weapon as he jumped to his feet.

“Dom! There was a message confirming ‘chopsticks optional!’ Someone really is coming!” Hans-Peter’s excitement dampened a bit when he saw Dom’s weapon aimed at his head.

“Why would you enter a room so carelessly, Hans-Peter? Do you _want_ to be shot or are you just that much of a bloody idiot?” Dom said, glaring at his longtime friend as he clicked on the safety and lowered his weapon.

Hans-Peter blinked. “I-I’m…I suppose I got carried away.”

“Yes, well, I _suppose_ I would have felt badly if I’d shot you, you monumental _tit_. Jesus.” Dom took a steadying breath and then let it go. “Have you spoken to your father about leaving?”

“I told him I was going to Majorca.”

“Majorca,” Dom said, thinking through their personal codes until he remembered Majorca meant ‘too close to being found out, must evacuate.’ He nodded. “So he knows you’re leaving because of me, then.”

“Well it would only have been a matter of time before I was figured out anyway, now that you’ve been named.”

“Only Ian, Matt and your father know, Hansel. In anything related to you, you were always Charlemagne.”

“Only a few more people than that knew of _you_ , Dominic. I should feel safe? I think not.”

“Yes, that’s true. If only I could figure out who might’ve…” Dom trailed off as an ugly thought occurred to him.

“Do you have an idea as to who?” Hans-Peter saw bleakness in Dominic’s eyes before he looked away, but when their eyes met again mere moments later, there was nothing of the sort.

“I keep missing something, Hansel. Some piece of the puzzle is eluding me; I just can’t come up with it. Too tired, I suppose.”

Hans-Peter nodded. The explanation made sense on all levels. “So we just wait then?”

“It’s all we can do.”

“But—“

“Break open that ’11, won’t you?”

“Dom—“

“We’re either going to be extracted or killed, Hansel,” Dom said, matter-of-fact. “And even if we do get out of this alive, do you really think whichever army gets into this cellar will leave the stock?”

“I…hadn’t considered that,” Hans-Peter said, clearly shaken at the idea.

“Spoils of war, my friend. Everything of value will be taken, including these,” Dom said, gesturing at the racks. “So let’s us enjoy it instead of them, yeah?”

Hans-Peter looked around him, centuries of history stored here in the wine cellar. He really hadn’t thought this through. His mind started to catalogue but he shut it down. There was no way he could hide these things or take them with him--his life would have to be enough, his life and his trust in Monaghan. He shook himself and walked to a door on the far side of the cellar and entered the tiny room. When he came out, he had two thin bottles of jeweled glass; their parchment labels faded and written in a language few in these days would be able to understand.

“Are you sure about those?” Dom said, eyebrow rising in surprise.

“No,” von Hueber replied, a slight tremor in his voice, “but they’ve been in the family’s possession for generations and I will _not_ allow them to fall into enemy hands, nor be shared by anyone who hasn’t got the ability to appreciate them.”

“Let’s have one now,” Dom said, nodding. “We’ll have the other when we’ve reached the end of our journey.”

“What if that’s here with Gestapo guns aimed at our heads?”

“Then we’ll use it to set this place afire and take those bastards with us,” Dom said calmly.

Hans-Peter smirked as he made his final decision and unstoppered one of the bottles. “You always did know exactly what to say to make me feel better, Dominic.”

*********

“Stay here, Hans-Peter, I’m going to have a look around outside.”

Hans-Peter nodded and settled back against the wall to wait.

*********

Dom was thankful he’d come in through this hidden entrance last night as the brush it was under had overgrown to the point it had taken him almost an hour’s worth of hacking with his knife to be able to get it open. He was now in the woods situated between the von Hueber’s estate and his ancestral estate, Schloss von Kahlden. He kept low to the ground and made his way to the edge of the forest to check out the area. He could easily make out the car Reinhardt had stationed to ‘keep an eye on things,’ and rolled his eyes at their attempt to be subtle. He checked the perimeter, his sharp gaze focusing on movement across the clearing. His eyes narrowed and he realized what it was— a man carrying another man across his shoulder. The carrier was jerky and listing; obviously he’d been carrying his burden quite a distance. The man slung over the shoulder was unmoving. Dom figured they were a part of the rescue team. Special forces didn’t leave their own behind if they could possibly help it.

He felt cold metal press against the back of his skull and froze. Whoever this man was, Dom was impressed. He’d heard nothing, and since there was no clicking to signify the safety being disengaged, the weapon had obviously been locked before the man had come up on him.

“Was ist los?” he asked quietly.

“Chopsticks Optional.”

Dom had a hard time containing his snort. It sounded ridiculous, really. And he’d never specified what the hell he would say in reply. What would make sense to a team of men who had no idea behind the words? His rational mind said that the obvious answer was Matthew, but it was the decidedly irrational side of his mind that had him saying, “Sergeant Boyd, I presume?” with barely suppressed amusement.

After a long, tense moment, the gun was taken away from his head. “Get up, then.”

Dom wasn’t stupid enough to think he was safe. The gun was locked and loaded and hadn’t been holstered yet. He stood up slowly and with his hands in clear view. When he turned to face his adversary, he was completely surprised--standing before him was Sergeant Boyd. His face was leaner, the features sharper with deeper lines carved around the eyes and mouth— that incredible mouth.

“Somehow it’s apropos that we are by a large river, don’t you think?” Dom said, grateful that his voice didn’t show any of the turbulent emotion he was currently feeling.

That beautiful mouth curved into a smirk. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this, Monaghan.”

“You don’t fancy being a knight in shining armour, then?”

“You just aren’t _quite_ the damsel in distress a knight would usually find himself rescuing, y’ken?”

“I’m sure,” Dom said looking down, a smile playing on his lips. He collected himself before meeting Boyd’s eyes again. “How many are we expecting then?”

“Reservations for five altogether.”

“Hmm. You might be down a man,” Dom said, gesturing over to where he’d seen the staggering man before. “Someone had another slung over his shoulder.”

“Fucking Serkis,” Boyd sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Dom’s eyebrow rose at Boyd’s reaction. “Are we waiting for assembly before heading down?”

“Another ten minutes. If the rest aren’t here by then, they’ll have to hole up until dark. That “security” detail on the hill may stick out like a sore thumb, but even they would catch on if they saw any of us.”

Dom allowed the smile to surface at that.

“Two coming in,” Boyd said, cocking his head.

There was a slight stirring in the bush, and then two men stepped into the clearing.

“Fuckin’ eh, Bill, nothing like an early morning jump to start the day off right,” said one of the grease-painted men with a wide grin.

His companion shook his head. “You’re such an amazing twat, Karl. _Shut_ it already.”

“Urban, Bloom,” Boyd said, smirking, “lovely of you to make it.”

“You must be Dominic,” the taller of the two said to Dom. “You look a lot like Matthew.”

“You’re Monaghan?” the man called Karl snorted. “ _You’re_ the burr in Hitler’s arse?” He turned to the taller man. “What do you reckon, Orli?”

“I reckon you’re a twat like your friend says,” Dom interjected evenly.

Boyd put his knuckles to his mouth, regarding Dom with amused consideration as Bloom stared, jaw dropped.

Karl smiled, Monaghan having passed some test he’d devised in his mind, and looked at Boyd. “Where the fuck are Bean and Serkis?”

“Sergeant Bean as well?” Dom said, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You really wanted to be sure I’d follow you out, eh?”

“Major Boyd doesn’t go anywhere without Sergeant Bean,” Karl said sagely.

Dom’s eyebrow rose at hearing Boyd was a Major, but it had been twelve years and there was a war on, so a battlefield promotion could have been offered. He found himself wondering if Major was Boyd’s permanent rank, or if he’d be relegated back to non-com status once the war ended. He looked at the man in question. “How much longer do you want to wait? When I saw them, they were on their way around.”

“Three minutes,” Billy said, looking at his watch.

“I’ve got a local waiting in the cellar,” Dom said. “He’ll be coming out with us. He knows too much to leave behind.”

Billy looked at him hard for long seconds before shrugging. “McKellen can address it when we get back unless there’s no room on the plane, then he stays. What he knows isn’t my problem.”

“Understood,” Dom said, nodding.

They all turned as the brush snapped behind them and Bean huffed and staggered into the clearing.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Bean,” Karl snorted. “Why don’t you just set off a fucking flare?”

“I’ll just put this heavy bastard down, and you can carry him for the next two miles, yeah? Then we’ll see who’s making the noise, you cunt,” Bean said as pointedly as his panting would allow.

“And _you_ , Serkis,” Karl continued on with his joyful harangue, “for fuck’s sake man…”

“Urban?” Boyd said conversationally.

“Yes, sir?”

“Are you in command here?”

“No, sir.”

“Then kindly shut the fuck up.”

“Yes, sir.”

Boyd took a look at Serkis for the first time. “Why don’t you just set him down, Sean?”

Bean set the unconscious man down as gently as he could, and then lurched back up to his feet, his hand gripping the shoulder opposite the one he’d been carrying Serkis on. He looked around, nodding to Orlando before his gaze settled on Dom.

“Dominic,” he said, smiling a bit as he reached out his free hand. “I’d say it’s good to see you again, but under the circumstances…”

“I’d agree completely,” Dom said, smiling as he shook Bean’s hand. “But it is good to see that you and Major Boyd are still coming to my rescue. Good to know certain things don’t have to change.”

Bean chuckled as Billy offered a smirky half-grin before tuning to Karl. “Urban, get Serkis.”

“Why me?”

“Because, as Orlando so succinctly pointed out a few minutes ago, you’re an amazing twat. Now pick him up and fall in.”

Once Serkis was safely over Urban’s shoulder, Billy looked at Dom. “If you’d like to lead the way?”

“Follow me, gentlemen,” Dom said, turning.

“But what about Karl? Can’t he come, too?”

“Fuck _off_ , Orli.”

“Urban, Bloom, shut it and move. Now,” Boyd commanded, his voice brooking no argument.

*********

Hans-Peter could hear them coming. He pushed himself to his feet and, with a sigh, began to brush the dust off his clothes as well as he could. This felt like surrender to him, and one should always look one’s best when surrendering, his grandfather had told him. Hans-Peter figured that since his grandfather had surrendered what was left of his unit at Verdun during the Great War, he hadn’t been talking just to hear his own voice. So, he made himself as presentable as he could under the circumstances, and waited for them to enter the cellar.

They came in through the tiny closet from where Hans-Peter had brought the jeweled bottles of wine, Dominic leading four men in black jumpsuits and grease paint. There was a fifth—obviously injured, slung over the shoulder of another.

Hans-Peter stood at attention and waited to be acknowledged.

“Set him down there,” Dom gestured toward the wall where Hans-Peter was standing. “There’s nothing here to cushion him, unfortunately.”

He met his friend’s solemn gaze and smiled a little, gesturing him forward.

“Hans-Peter,” Dominic said, a glint of warning in his eyes, “this is Major Boyd. Major Boyd, Hans-Peter von Hueber. He’ll be joining us on our flight.”

Billy sized up the man, nodded and stepped forward holding out his hand. Hans-Peter took his hand, somehow keeping the smile off his face. He really wanted to turn around and give Dom an ‘I-told-you-so’ grin but it was completely inappropriate to the moment. He’d save that for later, in private. He mentally rubbed his hands together in glee.

Karl, meanwhile, had been setting Andy down on the floor, Bean getting in the way as he tried to keep the leg as straight as possible. “Damn it, Bean, get the fuck out of there already,” he groused as Serkis was jostled painfully.

Andy moaned, his head rolled from side to side and then his eyes fluttered open, pained and disoriented. “Wha…”

“Welcome back, mate,” Bean said, obviously relieved.

“Did we…”

“We’re at the rendezvous, yes,” Bean replied. “We’re just waiting is all.”

Andy tried to turn on his side and groaned.

“What did you do, Serkis?” Karl said, baiting the injured man.

“I jumped out of a fucking plane with no training, Urban, you arse stain, so shut the fuck up and that’s a fucking order,” Andy growled.

Urban waved a hand in the vicinity of his forehead, exuding insolence. He bit the inside of his lip and both Dom and Hans-Peter realized he was trying not to laugh.

“Bean, report,” Boyd said calmly, cutting across any more bickering or baiting.

“We jumped, Serkis found himself heading for some trees and made sure he didn’t get hung up. He followed orders and took his chances with the touch and roll sir, and he suffered a bit. Dislocated knee. I surveyed the situation and decided I could get both of us here so I relocated the kneecap and carried him.”

Dom noticed the way Bean held the shoulder that hadn’t had Serkis’ weight on it. An old injury perhaps, he considered as he heard Boyd call for Bloom to report.

“Nice and easy, sir. Smooth landing, Karl managed to keep his bloody mouth shut for the most part—cake.”

“Well it hasn’t been cake on this side,” Dom interjected. “As you probably saw on your hike, there is a watch on this house. Granted they haven’t spotted any of us yet, but we can’t stay here. It really is only a matter of time before Reinhardt comes back to detain Hans-Peter.”

“I’m guessing since you’ve made it this far with no help from anyone that you have a plan?” Boyd said evenly.

“This isn’t the only tunnel,” Dom replied. “There’s another further in the forest, not connected to the one we just used. It goes under my house. We can stay there until it’s time to leave.”

“But Dom,” Hans-Peter began anxiously.

“My ancestral home, Schloss von Kahlden, is “on loan” to the supervisor of the local Gestapo headquarters,” Dom cut in to explain, “but trust me when I say we will be perfectly safe where I plan to hide. The hard part will be getting from the end point of the tunnel we just used to the starting point of the von Kahlden tunnel unseen.”

“We’re moving during the day?” Orlando asked, surprised.

“Have to. If we wait, we’ll be--”

“Dominic, Hans-Peter, who are these men and why are they in my wine cellar?” Werner von Hueber asked coldly as he opened the door from the stairway to the cellar.

Everyone in the room whirled to face the newcomer, weapons drawn. Werner took a step back but then held his ground.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. “What are you doing with my son?”

“Father, it’s not safe…”

“It is perfectly safe for you, Hans-Peter. Only Dominic has to leave,” he said harshly, glaring at Dom.

“You’ll find a way to “protect” him, right?” Dom challenged, his anger at the man trying to stop them bleeding into his words. “Find someone else to sacrifice for his safety? It won’t work next time, Werner. I was your best shot. I still am your best shot to save him.”

Hans-Peter looked from one man to the other, at a complete loss. “What are saying, Dom? You think my _father_ turned you in?”

“Hansel, please, you have to try to understand,” Werner said, stepping forward, his hands outstretched, imploring. “They were getting too close to us. Someone had to be offered up or they might have taken all of us. Dominic was the only one who might have withstood what they would have done; it had to be him, don’t you see?”

Hans-Peter shook his head in disbelief. “No, Papa, I don’t see. You turned Dom in to the SD? Knowing what they are capable of, you turned him in, and with no warning? How could you have done that?”

“There should have been a communiqué. I’m truly sorry, Dominic, you were supposed to know what was coming.”

Dominic understood, then. He might have made the same decision himself, had he been in Werner’s shoes. And, had he known what he was supposed to have known before he’d gotten that message, he would have been prepared, wouldn’t have started the series of events that occurred after he’d made the changes to the decryption. He realized that Hans-Peter was speaking again and brought himself back to focus.

“And that would have made this better _how_?” Hans-Peter was demanding. “You would still have been handing over Dominic to people who would have tortured him. And for what, Papa? Did you make a deal? Because none of those people can be trusted!”

“I didn’t make a deal, Hansel. I made a decision based upon what I knew of Dominic’s character. He wouldn’t have talked and he would have found a way to make sure they couldn’t force him to, either.”

Hans-Peter’s mouth dropped open and eyebrows around the room rose at that statement. Boyd looked hard at Monaghan, finding that he believed Werner; that he could see Dominic taking his own life if that was the only way to protect what he’d been doing.

“Werner, there’s still a chance this could work for all of us,” Dom said. “If Hans-Peter goes with us, you can still go upstairs and inform Reinhardt. You can tell him that—“

“No!” Werner cried. “He can’t go with you.”

Dom blinked as understanding crashed into him. Werner had already informed Reinhardt and the SD was likely already on the way.

“We don’t have time for this,” Dom said brutally. “We’ve got to leave. Now.”

On the other side of the cellar, Boyd, with quick hand gestures, had Bloom and Bean get Serkis up and supported between them, all of them heading toward the door they’d come in through earlier.

“Hans-Peter come with me,” Werner said desperately. “If you’re the one informing Reinhardt, he could be persuaded that you turned Monaghan in as soon as you knew of his presence. Please, son, don’t go with them. The tunnel doesn’t go anywhere but into the forest. How far can you go during the day? Patrols have been trebled and the borders are crawling with guards and dogs hoping to capture Monaghan. How can you possibly escape?”

Boyd and his team were through the door and starting down the tunnel. Dom sighed inwardly and took a step toward the door. “We’re going, Hansel. You know you can’t stay here. No matter what your father believes, you are _not_ safe.”

“He doesn’t know what he’s saying, Hansel. I can protect you.”

“Goodbye, Werner. I forgive you, if you needed to hear that,” Dom said as he turned and walked purposefully to the door.

“God be with you, Dominic,” Werner replied softly.

“And with you, Papa,” Hans-Peter said quietly as he began to follow Dominic.

“Hansel—“

“Goodbye, Papa. Be careful,” Hans-Peter’s voice carried back.

“Goodbye, my boy,” Werner said, defeated. His head and shoulders sinking as he turned to leave the cellar.


	10. Chapter 10

Dom had waited just inside the mouth of the tunnel for Hans-Peter. When he saw his friend’s bright eyes, he pulled Hans-Peter to him for a hard, tight hug before starting down the tunnel, pulling his friend with him. By the time they’d reached the end point, Boyd’s team was already fanned out, scanning the woods for enemy activity. Dom and Hans-Peter pulled themselves up and they crept deeper into the forest.

Several minutes later, Boyd came up. “How far, then?”

“About another 500 meters,” Dom answered quietly.

“Is it overgrown like the von Hueber entrance?”

“Actually, I cleared the underbrush before I went down to the cellar. There won’t be a hold-up to get in, Major.”

“I thought you might say something like that,” Boyd said with a small smile. “I hope we’re not slowing you down, Dominic.”

Dom smiled crookedly. “No. In fact, I’m damn glad you’re here.” A moment later he added, “You and your team.”

Suddenly, they heard voices. “Bloody Hell,” Billy muttered under his breath. He sent a series of complicated hand signals to his team and then waved Dom and Hans-Peter down.

“Jutht thit tight,” Boyd replied, his voice low.

Hans-Peter just stared at Boyd as he started slithering back toward his team. It took him long seconds to decode what the man had said, and another few seconds to realize why he’d developed a lisp when he’d had no problems with sibilance minutes before. This adventure action was beyond him. He’d been trained to decode radio messages and operate within political circles, not flee his homeland after being branded a traitor. When he looked back to see what was going on, he realized the only other person still in the immediate area was Serkis, the injured man. He crawled to Serkis, and the two of them waited for some sort of sign. There was a prolonged series of harsh coughing sounds as the team used their silenced weapons to neutralize the threat, and then Bean and Bloom were there, helping Serkis to his feet.

“You’ll have to push, mate,” Bean said to Serkis. “They’ll be on our trail quickly now.”

They were up and moving as fast as possible. Hans-Peter noticed Dom, Urban and Boyd falling behind.

“What are they doing?”

“They’ll cover our tracks as best they can,” Bloom replied. “You know where the entrance is, I take it?”

“Yes,” Hans-Peter answered as he moved into the lead. Truth be told he hadn’t been there in years, and was a bit frightened that he would lead them astray, but when they came on it minutes later, he recognized it immediately, even with the thick undergrowth surrounding it.

“We’re here,” he said pointing to the dense growth.

“In there?” Bean was skeptical.

Hans-Peter simply dropped to his knees and pushed himself through.

Bean had Serkis lay down on his stomach. “Sorry mate, but this is the quickest way, yeah?” he said, taking hold of Andy’s hands. Andy nodded and held on as Bean pulled both of them through, Bloom immediately behind them. Serkis couldn’t quite suppress a low moan as his injured knee was scraped and jostled but he knew there was no other way and he suffered it as quietly as he could.

Hans-Peter was kneeling on the other side, his head in low hanging branches as he worked the cover off the tunnel. Once he had it open, he turned to them. “You’ll be the slowest so maybe you should go first?”

Bean nodded and he and Bloom quickly got Serkis up and supported between them. The three of them disappeared into the tunnel. He was about to follow when he heard the brush crackling and there was Urban.

“They get Serkis down?”

“Yes.”

“Good. We’ve still got a bit more to do to cover out here. We’ll be in as soon as we can.”

Hans-Peter nodded and watched Urban push himself backward until he disappeared. He sent up a quick prayer before going into the tunnel.

*********

It didn’t take much more time before everyone was assembled in a series of attached rooms underneath the Schloss. Dom explained how the rooms and tunnels had been constructed during the early Germanic Wars, and how they stretched the entire length of the Schloss. It was quickly decided that they would move on toward the other end now, and then rest until dusk. Once darkness fell, they would exit out the tunnel on the far side of the property – one where there were several fields long enough to land a plane and then take off again – and wait for Wenham to arrive. If he did not show by the previously appointed time, they would regroup under the house. It was the best plan available under the circumstances, and considering no one knew of the rooms except Monaghan and von Hueber, chances were better to stay there than attempt to hide above ground somewhere.

It took them a few hours to make their way through the rooms. Debris had to be moved, doors battered down and explosives laid in case of discovery and pursuit by the enemy, but they finally arrived at the opening of another tunnel.

Boyd tilted his head up to meet Dom’s eyes, one brow raised in a silent question. Dom smiled and nodded, watching Boyd return his smile whilst shaking his head. “You’re the most prepared non-combatant I’ve ever met, Monaghan,” he said in approving tones.

“I figured I’d be using this as an escape route, so I did this side first before getting the one on the other side. It made for a long night, but it had to be done. I really wasn’t expecting help,” Dom replied, matter-of-fact.

“I like a man who prepares for eventualities,” Boyd said, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

Dom swallowed; to his own ears, it sounded as if it echoed loudly in the tunnel. He wondered if Boyd could somehow tell how dry his mouth was suddenly or how his cock had hardened as that incredible mouth had shaped the word “eventualities.” He had to get himself under control, because this wasn’t the time or the place for adolescent fantasies; more than likely, Boyd wasn’t interested anyway. “Better get some rest,” he said, somewhat breathless. “I’ll take first watch.”

Boyd nodded and went back through the tunnel to the last room where his team had set up camp. Serkis was lying next to the wall, his head on his pack, out cold. Bean had cut the man’s trouser leg up the seams, so they could get a better look at the damage to his knee, and he and Bloom were heatedly discussing the results in low tones. Bean’s mouth was set in a firm line and Bloom looked dismayed.

Boyd walked over and looked down at the discoloured and grotesquely swollen joint. “What’s the word?”

“We gave him some morphine to help with the pain, but…” Bloom began.

Bean pulled Boyd aside, leaving Bloom to sigh heavily.

“Orli thinks it might be in the captain’s best interest to be overdosed with morphine, but I don’t think he’s a lost cause, Bill. He’s made it this far. He’s tough, that Southie. More than any of us gave him credit for, yeah?”

“Sean,” Billy said, his gaze boring into Bean’s.

“I’m not in love with the man, Bill, I just think that if he’s going to die, he should get to decide how.”

Boyd continued to stare hard at Bean for several long moments, an entire conversation passing between them, but the sergeant didn’t back down. He knew he was right on this.

Boyd sighed and turned back to face the room. “Two hour watch. Monaghan has first watch; I’ll take second. I want everyone down and resting. Sleep if you can. We’ve got a long night ahead of us, lads,” he said wearily, grabbing up a canteen and heading back down the tunnel again.

*********

Orlando had been busying himself with rolling Serkis’ trouser leg back down carefully, trying not to jostle the leg too much. He didn’t look up, not even when he felt Bean’s large hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

“I was only—“

“I know, you great sodding idiot. Just, it should be his call. He’s earned that, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Orlando said, nodding. “Yeah, I suppose he has.”

Bean’s hand slid up and affectionately ruffled Bloom’s hair. “Let’s get some rest. He won’t be waking up anytime soon and we’re due.”

*********

Bill stopped midway down the tunnel and leaned against the wall, his head dropping until his chin hit his chest, and sighed. It was his job, his duty to his team, to be in command of himself at all times. What was he doing here when he should be back in that room resting with his men? If asked, he would’ve said that he was taking Monaghan the water, but if he was honest with himself he knew that wasn’t the only reason. He wanted to spend time with Monaghan; was intrigued by the man the young whelp he’d first encountered those many years ago in China had grown into, and he wanted to know more. He hadn’t allowed himself to consider anything other than getting the men to safety, but now they were as safe as possible under the circumstances and his mind had decided to overrule his will, as Ewan used to say.

Ewan. Another, long forgotten thought occurred to him. _I just want you to know, William Boyd, that if anything happens to me, I believe you should look the lad up is all I'm saying._ Bill’s jaw clenched viciously. Ewan only gone for a short while now and here was Bill thinking of how well Dominic Monaghan had grown, how shrewd and intelligent he was, how well matched… He shuddered and slid down the wall until he was sat, head resting on his knees, his face contorted in pain and anger at the loss of his longtime mate and lover, the canteen on the ground to his side, forgotten.

*********

Dom found Boyd two hours later as he was heading back toward the camp. He wasn’t sure what to make of Boyd slumped in the tunnel, but stayed out of striking range as he called out.

“Major Boyd?”

Boyd heaved a deep sigh and raised his head, his red eyes meeting Dom’s. “Time up already, then?”

“All right, Major?” Dom asked, his eyes narrowing.

“I hardly think so,” Boyd replied, snorting derisively.

“Well, I suppose that was a fairly stupid question on my part. I can’t even believe you wasted words on answering it,” Dom said, a self-deprecating half-smile settling on his lips.

“Wouldn’t want you to think I was prickly bastard.”

“But I could already tell from your accent you were Scottish,” Dom said innocently.

There was nothing innocent about the heat that coursed through him when Boyd threw him a knowing smirk. God, that mouth was going to fucking kill him, Dom thought hungrily, watching the lip curl. He shook his head, closing his eyes briefly.

“All right, Monaghan?”

Dom glared down at Boyd’s obviously false concern. “Your newfound sensitivity is much appreciated, Major.”

“Do I want to know what you were just thinking about?” Boyd’s smirk smoothed out and lengthened into a full smile.

Those fucking lips wrapped around my cock, Dom thought, hoping it was shadowy enough that Boyd couldn’t see the hot flush spreading across his neck and face. Suddenly Boyd was up and right in Dom’s face, marching him back until he was against the opposite wall of the tunnel. “Major Boyd? What…”

Boyd fitted his mouth over Dom’s, cutting off whatever he was about to say. Dom was tense for a few seconds before he relaxed and opened his mouth, allowing Boyd to deepen the kiss and take what he wanted. Dom moaned as Boyd slanted his mouth, changing angles, plunging his tongue deep in Dom’s mouth, tasting, exploring. One hand came up and cupped Dom’s jaw, tilting his head further back, the other gripped Dom’s shoulder tightly, fingers digging into his skin. There would be bruises there and Dom found he could care less. He felt like he could stay like this, Boyd pressing him against this wall and taking his fill of Dom’s mouth, for hours. He pushed his hips forward as much as he could and found a matching hardness waiting for him. He made a low needy sound deep in his throat as he thrust against Boyd, his hands scrabbling for purchase anywhere they could get a grip, eventually settling on fisting Boyd’s uniform blouse.

Bill pulled his mouth from Dom’s and dragged his teeth along the sensitive skin behind Dom’s ear before whispering raggedly, “You should be careful what you wish for, lad.” And then he was gone, up to the entrance of the tunnel.

Dom stood there, open-mouthed and panting, tight with want and need, wondering what the hell had just happened. It took him awhile to realize he must have spoken his thought aloud. He leaned his head back against the wall and rubbed his shaking hands over his face. Nothing to be done about it here in the field, he decided, but this would definitely be revisited once they got back to England.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part concurrent with chapter 10.

1 May 1942 von Hueber Estate, Marburg

Werner watched Hans-Peter disappear into the small room before he hung his head, already grieving for his son. Reinhardt would be able to summon a large amount of men to search the woods, and the borders would be heavily guarded. There just didn’t seem to be much hope for Hans-Peter and Dominic to escape capture. Truth be told, Werner was very sorry for how this whole situation had turned out. He had absolutely nothing against Dominic Monaghan; in fact he knew that the ever-growing movement to remove Hitler was going to suffer without Monaghan’s leadership.

Von Hueber was not a religious man but he prayed now. He prayed for Hans-Peter and Dominic to somehow slip through to safety; prayed for the continuance of the conspiracy movement once they’d heard of the staggering blow they’d been dealt; prayed for the return of the Germany he had known and loved so much.

Von Hueber sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He had to think of a story that would protect Hans-Peter. It took him a few minutes but he came up with something he considered plausible, and began to run up the stairs. Reinhardt would be waiting by now, and he knew from experience that the Sturmbannfuhrer was not a patient man.

Library

Reinhardt heaved an irritated sigh. Waiting was not something he enjoyed or suffered kindly. He was about to send one of the men who’d accompanied him inside to begin searching the house, when von Hueber came running through the door full tilt, out of breath and looking a bit wild.

“He’s taken my son!”

“Calm yourself,” Reinhardt said, rolling his eyes. “Take a deep breath and explain.”

“Monaghan was here in the cellar. He’s gone now but he took my son with him as a hostage when he left!”

“What do you mean ‘left,’ von Hueber? My men have reported nothing.”

“There is a tunnel under the house, Sturmbannfuhrer. He escaped that way.”

“Where does the tunnel lead?”

“It comes out into the forest midway between here and the Schloss von Kahlden,” von Hueber replied. “Come, I will show you the entrance.”

Reinhardt and his two men followed von Hueber down the stairs to take a look at the tunnel. Von Hueber walked them right to the door of the small room, and showed them the trap door lying open on the floor.

“Perhaps we should notify Herr Schufel over at the Schloss?” von Hueber suggested.

“Oh, I will notify Schufel and he will give me whatever manpower I require to find the fugitives,” Reinhardt said disdainfully.

“Hans-Peter is not a fugitive, Reinhardt,” Werner snapped. “He was taken against his will. You must tell that to Schufel and to all of the men searching. He is not a part of this!”

Reinhardt looked hard at von Hueber who evaded his eyes.

“You realize that there is a possibility that your son will be injured or killed if Monaghan is cornered.”

“You want Monaghan alive and it shouldn’t be too much to ask for you to keep Hans-Peter alive as well. We both win, then, yes?”

“Monaghan might kill him.”

“I don’t think he will. He only forced Hansel along because he was trapped. He’s hoping for leverage and Hansel is a favorite of the Führer, you know.”

Reinhardt did know that. He also knew that he didn’t like the way von Hueber wouldn’t meet his eyes. Something wasn’t right here. He stared at von Hueber and watched him squirm under the gaze. Reinhardt knew he could eventually get information from von Hueber, but there was no time to waste. Every minute spent down here allowed Monaghan to better hide himself in the forest. He realized then that von Hueber had been stalling, and his good eye narrowed as his fists clenched. He pulled out his gun and shot von Hueber twice, once each to head and chest.

“Send four men through the tunnel to see if they’re simply hiding in there. Take the rest and fan out in the woods in groups of at least three, preferably four, men. Once you’ve checked out the tunnel, have this body taken to the mouth and “discovered.” When you fill out the report, write down that he was shot while trying to escape capture. I will go to the Schloss von Kahlden and retrieve more men to aid in the search.”

Reinhardt looked once more into the small room, deciding that he would come back once Monaghan was captured and get some more of that cognac. Then he stepped over the body of Werner von Hueber and headed up the stairs.

Schloss von Kahlden

Reinhardt was waiting again. He hated waiting, especially on people he thought of as inferior to himself. Franz Schufel, the head of the local Gestapo, was firmly in that category as far as Reinhardt was concerned. He considered simply giving his own superceding orders and being done with it, but he was already on a short leash and that would garner him no favors higher up the Party ladder. He sighed and settled in for an even longer wait.

Schufel finally made an appearance five minutes later.

“Thank you for seeing me, I know you are a busy man,” he said, barely managing to keep the sarcasm and annoyance out of his voice.

“Yes, I am,” Schufel agreed, unaware of Reinhardt’s disdain. “What can the local Gestapo do for the SD?”

“We are searching for two escaped criminals in the woods between the Schloss and the von Hueber estate. I only have fifteen men with me so I need more to help ensure we capture these men.”

“What are they guilty of?”

“Conspiring to assassinate our Führer,” Reinhardt answered in clipped tones.

Schufel’s eyes widened almost comically before he sprang into action. He reached over and picked up the red handset on his desk. “Johann, put out a call for all available men to report for duty, then assemble everyone currently here. No one goes home now, there’s been an emergency, and everyone is needed to help. I will be down in ten minutes. Be ready.” He hung up and turned back to Reinhardt. “I only have thirty or so men here at this moment, but it’s a start. We shall send the others out in teams as they report in.”

“Excellent,” Reinhardt said. He stood up and moved toward the door. “Shall we?”

“But of course,” Schufel replied, opening the door and leading Reinhardt outside and down to the barracks, which were currently housed in the stables.

*********

They spent all day searching in shifts, and found nothing but one of Reinhardt’s teams dead and hastily hidden in some high brush. Reinhardt figured there had to be another tunnel somewhere between the two properties. They were likely holed up somewhere in the area and he would do whatever it took to find them.

By dusk, most of the Gestapo men who had been searching had been sent home. They were exhausted and wouldn’t be of much help anyway. Reinhardt currently had twenty of them searching the lower levels of the Schloss looking for extra rooms or any hint of a hiding place. He was standing outside on one of the lower balconies when he heard the plane.

“Schufel!” he cried as he ran inside. “This is considered a no-fly area, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Planes are automatically fired upon here.”

“A plane is coming; Low-flying. It must be here for Monaghan!”

“There are some fields on the far side of the property. Definitely long enough for a plane to land and take off again.”

“Get whatever men you’ve got left! We have to stop that plane!”

Schufel rang Johann again. By the time Reinhardt arrived at the barracks, the remaining men were assembled and ready for instruction.

“There is a plane coming towards the fields on the far side of the property,” Reinhardt said to the twenty men standing before him. “Our fugitives will attempt to escape on that plane. It must be stopped at all costs. They must not get away! _Go_!”

The Gestapo men took off for the fields on the other side of the property, Reinhardt and his security detail on their heels. Reinhardt cursed inwardly as he ran; he could hear the plane getting lower to the ground. If he lost Monaghan now, he’d be in Russia by week’s end and that wasn’t in his plans. His plans were to see Dominic Monaghan in the very same interrogation chair he’d been sat in and to have complete control over the “discussion” that would ensue.

It took him a moment to register the gunfire and drop to the ground. The confusion was overwhelming; everywhere he looked around him, men were falling, clutching at wounds, screaming. There was absolutely no forward movement whatsoever. Every attempt was met with gunfire. It came from up high, as if from the trees, down low as if someone were stretched on the ground, from the sides— they seemed to have walked into a trap. There were no breaks in the gunfire, no pauses, no lulls for reloading or troop movement, nothing – just an unceasing cacophony of brutal sound and Reinhardt’s shocked mind screamed, how many are there?

Although it felt like a lifetime, it couldn’t have been more than three minutes later when the gunfire simply stopped. Where before there had been such a terrifying racket now there was only the echo of gunfire, a ringing in the ears, and the cries of the injured and dying.

Reinhardt struggled to his feet, swaying for a moment before catching himself. “Anyone who can, get up, and come with me.”

Two dazed men pulled themselves up and saluted as best they could before they stumbled off behind him into the forest. It was like a shooting range after an exercise – spent ammunition shells scattered everywhere in the immediate vicinity. Again the whisper in Reinhardt’s mind, how many men had been sent for Monaghan? It seemed as though an entire unit had been here – who else carried so much firepower with them – but that made no sense. How would such a large amount of men be able to tromp about the Hessian countryside without being discovered? He shook his head and kept moving, one of the Gestapo men taking the lead to show him the way to the fields.

On the other side of the trees, he could see the plane taxiing to the end of the field and begin its turn. The man in front screamed and fell back as a bullet tore through him. Reinhardt dropped immediately, but lifted his head again under covering fire from his second companion. He could see indistinct shapes in the dark and shot in their general direction. He heard a loud grunt and knew he’d hit someone, but had no idea who, or if Monaghan was even in the vicinity anymore. The Gestapo agent shot again, and there was a cry of pain.

“Monaghan’s down,” came a hoarse shout.

“Get to the plane,” an authoritative voice called out. “We’ll be there in a tick.”

The Hell you will, Reinhardt swore. He didn’t even register the shot that killed the last Gestapo man, he had eyes only for the shapes on the ground further up the path.

*********

Dom couldn’t believe how much his leg hurt. He was still trying to shake it off when Boyd appeared out of the dark. “Come on, Monaghan, we’ve a ride to catch. You ready?”

Dom looked into steady green eyes and steeled himself for what was to come. “Always.”

“There’s a lad.”

“Not…God damn it” he practically choked on the pain as Boyd lifted him to his feet. “Not a lad anymore, Major.”

“No,” Boyd replied, an odd edge to his voice. “No, you’re not.”

And then Urban was there on Dom’s other side, supporting him. “There’s one more out there, Bill, but I lost him as I climbed down.”

“Nothing to be done abou…ungh!” Billy stumbled with the force of the bullet that hit him.

“Monaghan!” Reinhardt called out. “You won’t escape this time, Monaghan. Time to pay for your sins!”

“Karl, get him to the plane,” Billy said, easing Dom’s weight to his subordinate.

“Billy…”

“Get him to the plane! He is the _only_ objective. Not another word. _Go_.”

Karl went, hating every step, but knowing his leader was right. At any other time, Dominic might have enjoyed the litany of names and curses Urban chanted under his breath on every step, but at the moment it served only to remind him that his life had been put ahead of others. Ahead of Urban’s, ahead of Boyd’s. He’d wanted to offer himself up, to lay down and sob at the hot pain dripping down his leg, but he had no choice in the matter. He had no choice if he wanted any of the sacrifices these men had made, and might still make, to mean something; knowing it was a possibility that Boyd wouldn’t be joining them on the plane.

There were two, almost simultaneous, gunshots and then nothing but the plane engines whining, as the pilot readied for takeoff.

Suddenly Bean was there. “Where’s Billy?”

“Back there,” Karl’s voice broke on the “there” and Dom found himself wondering how many leaders inspired such loyalty in their subordinates. “Take him,” Karl said. “Get in the plane. If you don’t see me by the time you’re getting ready to latch that door, you shut it and get the hell gone.”

Bean stared hard at Urban for a long moment and then nodded. When Dom turned back to look, Urban was already disappearing into the darkness.

“Come on then, Dominic,” Bean said on a ragged sigh. “Let’s get us gone.”


	12. Chapter 12

Orlando met Bean at the door, reaching down for Dominic’s hand, but still looking around somewhat wildly for a moment before he took a deep breath and calmed himself.

“He’s been shot, Orli, so take care, yeah?” Bean said, supporting Dom as much as he could from behind as he helped him up the stairs.

Monaghan was brought into the plane and sat down along the wall toward the back of the plane. As Orlando turned to head back toward the door, Dom caught sight of the blood dripping from a wound on the other man’s arm. How many of us are injured, he wondered.

Orlando’s loud, “Oh thank _God_ ” brought relief to everyone. It wasn’t very long before Urban and Bloom had manhandled Boyd onto the plane. It was clear he was injured badly, and the initial relief was gone almost as soon as it had appeared. Boyd was set just inside the door and Bloom closed and latched the door while Bean gave Wenham the word to go.

*********

Billy stayed just as they laid him. The pain was overwhelming, the smallest motions burning through him like a red-hot poker. He leaned against the wall, his chin against his chest, breathing shallow and ragged.

“All right, Billy-my-lad?” Bean’s anxious voice rumbled.

“I don’t think I am,” Billy said, his voice slightly surprised in an overly calm way.

“Don’t say that, Billy,” Orlando snapped as he gently pulled back the blood-soaked jacket, trying to see exactly where Boyd had been hit.

“Saw this, y’know,” Billy said to Bean. “In the ashes.”

“I know. You said it would be fine,” Bean replied, voice breaking on the final word.

“Sorry, mate. Had to get you back inside somehow, eh? The Brigadier was waiting.”

Bean looked absolutely gutted.

Billy's glazed eyes moved from Bean to Bloom, whose shocked face told him that he wouldn’t make it to England, probably wouldn’t make it out of Germany. “M’ not afraid to die, lads,” he said, quietly yet with certainty.

“Billy…” Karl’s voice shook with suppressed emotion.

“Three ampoules of morphine should do the trick, Orli,” Boyd cut in.

Bloom shook his head. “I can’t…”

Billy rolled his head slightly so he could meet Orlando’s eyes. “You’d do it for Serkis but not for me?” he said with the faintest of half-smiles on his lips.

“It’s not the same and you know it.”

“Consider this a direct order, Orlando. Three ampoules.”

“Oh God, Bill,” Orlando’s voice hitched, then broke.

“It’s been a Hell of a ride, lads,” Billy said, pride and affection as clear as the pain in his voice. “You see this through now. For me, eh?”

Each of his men leaned and touched their foreheads to his. Bean, the last of the Glasgow boys, kissed Bill’s forehead as well before pushing back onto his heels. He cupped Billy’s face, lifting his head. “I’ll tell Maggie and Gerry personally.”

“Thank you,” Billy said, his eyes closing on a fresh wave of pain. His breath hissed through his clenched teeth. “Orli?”

*********

Orlando’s eyes closed on his own pain as he reached for a morphine ampoule and fitted it for dispensing. As much as he wanted Bill to fight for as long as he could, he couldn’t deny the request--order--Boyd had made. With a minimum three hour flight to anywhere with the level of medical assistance that Bill needed, there wasn’t much of a choice. He administered the dose, watched as Billy’s pupils became pinpricks and listened to his harsh breathing settle a bit. He fitted the next ampoule but couldn’t seem to make himself depress the syringe. His hand hovered over Bill’s arm, trembling with the weight of what he had to do next.

“S’alright,” Bill slurred, patting clumsily at Orlando’s arm. “S’alright, Orli.”

Orlando administered the dose. Billy’s eyes slid shut and the tightness around his mouth eased. He looked almost peaceful, really. Orlando dropped his head, trying to get himself under control. He still had one more to go before he could throw himself into a ball and mourn the loss of not only the best leader he had had the privilege to serve under, but also one of his best mates. He took several deep breaths and then dropped his hands. He didn’t know if he could do it, he really didn’t. Bean reached over and gently squeezed his shoulder. Orlando nodded and reached for the last ampoule.

*********

Dom saw Bloom pick up another ampoule of morphine. He’d seen two administered already, surely Bloom was aware that three would almost certainly kill the diminutive Boyd.

“Hansel, go up there and tell them to stop! They’re going to kill him!”

Hans-Peter looked at the group of men in the front of the plane. They were all squatting or standing with their heads down. Bloom hadn’t even loaded the ampoule yet. “I think they are very much aware of that fact, Dom,” he said quietly.

Dom tried to stand but his leg would not support him and he crashed back down with a pained grunt.

“What are you doing?” Hans-Peter demanded.

“Get me up there,” Dom gritted out through his clenched jaw.

“Dom…”

“Just do it, Hans-Peter. If you don’t help me I will crawl up there screaming in pain the entire way, I swear I will!”

Hans-Peter didn’t say anything else, only leaned down and pulled Dom to his feet. He took as much of the weight as he could off Dom’s leg and they started for the front of the plane. They reached the circle of men just as Orlando had positioned the vial for injection.

“Stop,” Dom commanded sharply.

Bloom looked up. “He won’t make it to England, Monaghan,” he said calmly. If Dom hadn’t been looking down into Bloom’s haunted face, he would’ve thought Bloom had no problem with killing his commanding officer with a morphine overdose.

“There’s nothing to be done for him except what he asked for—what he _ordered_ , Dominic,” Bean added.

“Could he make it an hour, do you think?” Hans-Peter asked, thoughtful.

“What’s an hour from here?” Bean demanded. “We don’t have anyone so close who could help.”

“This would not be one of your people,” Hans-Peter replied calmly.

“Who?” Dom asked, his voice hitching on a pained gasp as the plane hit a patch of turbulence. He knew the pain was getting to him, he should’ve been able to come up with a name by himself.

“Mortensen,” Hans-Peter supplied.

Dom nodded and then looked down at the team. “Viggo Mortensen - Danish national, high-ranking Nazi Party member. He can certainly get us whatever medical help we may need.”

“He’s a Nazi,” Karl spat.

“So am I,” Dom snapped, running out of patience and almost breathless with pain. “He knows both Hans-Peter and I, knows what we were about. He can arrange for help. Is that going to be enough for you or are you just going to give up even though there may be a chance to save Major Boyd?”

Dom met every man’s eyes after he issued the challenge. He knew that none of them wanted to let Boyd die but they had accepted the futility of the situation and it had to actually sink in that there was now another option.

“If Viggo can’t help,” Hans-Peter spoke into the tense silence, “you can administer the third dose on the ground. You’ll still have followed orders, just not…exactly. I assume you lot can live with that?”

Bean sighed. “Talk to Wenham. With Boyd and Serkis down, he’s in charge of the mission. Besides, if he won’t fly there, it doesn’t matter whether we follow orders to the letter or not.”

“Help me get in there,” Dom said, his voice harsh with pain.

Hans-Peter practically carried his friend to the cockpit. He leant Dom against the wall as he opened the door, then he helped Dom in and settled him into the co-pilot’s seat.

“Who the hell are you?” Wenham demanded.

“Dominic Monaghan, assimilated grade of Lieutenant Colonel in the British Army. I am assuming command of this mission as of now, is that understood?”

“What? Major Boyd—“

“He is unconscious. My assimilated grade outranks you, Commander, so I’ll have to ask that you follow my orders. You may fight me if you so wish but there are at least six wounded men on this plane, three critically. We need to divert from the flight plan to get help fast enough to save them.”

“Divert to where?” Wenham challenged. “We’re in bloody German airspace, Monaghan. They already know we’re here, they’re just trying to find out exactly where so they can shoot us down. Where do you suggest we go, eh?”

“Zurich.”

“You want me to fly over one of the most heavily guarded borders in the area and into Switzerland.”

“Yes.”

“All right,” Wenham said with a shrug.

“We need to get word to Viggo that we’re coming,” Hans-Peter pointed out. “The doctors must be there by the time we land or—“

“We can use the radio to transmit a message to London,’ Dom interjected. “They can get it wherever it needs to go. Hansel, make up something Mortensen will understand that won’t give up our intentions or position to whoever intercepts the message. We may not be able to do anything about interception, but let’s not give them a beacon to hone in on.”

They hit another patch of turbulence and Dom hissed in pain. Wenham glanced down and saw the bloody mess that had been Monaghan’s calf. “Holy shit!”

“Wenham,” Monaghan said shakily, “I am ordering you to fly, no questions asked, to any coordinates given to you by Hans-Peter. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

Hans-Peter handed Dom a piece of paper, which he read quickly. He looked up at his friend, a weak smile on his face. “Imagine if we were actually fighting _for_ Germany, Hansel.”

“They might have stood a chance to win then,” von Hueber agreed, a small smile on his own face.

Wenham relaxed back in his seat, his body language no longer tense or challenging.

“You’re with us now,” Dom said to the pilot.

“Yes.”

“Good. That will make everything smoother,” Dom said approvingly as he handed Wenham the paper. “Send this to MI6. Begin transmission with, ‘Yangtze river crew reunited. Please relay the following to General U.S. Grant.’ Then send the body of the message exactly as written down here. End with ‘Urgent. Chopsticks broken. Bernie.’ That should do the trick.”

“What frequency is this?” Wenham asked as he glanced at the paper to get the message down.

“It’s the frequency I’ve been using to betray one of my countries to the other for the past several years,” Dom said, sighing heavily.

Wenham had nothing to say to that, simply nodded and sent the message over the radio. "That didn't take long," he said, surprised when the radio crackled back to life less than two minutes later.

_“Grant thanks you for passing on that message. He’ll speak to his friend and will let you know availability. See you soon, you monumental git.”_

Dom managed a weak smile. “Love you too, Matty,” he slurred, blood loss and pain finally catching up with him. He slowly slumped sideways in his seat.

*********

Hans-Peter set Dom upright, trying to make him as comfortable as possible. Once he had his friend settled as best he could, he pulled down the jump seat and strapped himself in.

“What’s your name then?” Wenham asked.

“Hans-Peter von Hueber.”

“Well, Hans-Peter von Hueber, I’m David Wenham.”

Hans-Peter offered a small smile. “Under other circumstances I would say it is a pleasure to meet you, David, however…” he shrugged elegantly.

“Too true, mate,” Wenham said, nodding. “Things being as they are, I just thought we should at least know each other’s names.”

“If you’re going to die with someone, do you mean?”

Dave met Hans-Peter’s gaze steadily. “Yes, that is what I mean. I’m going to set a new course for Zurich but there is a possibility we won’t even make it there.”

“Well, if we’re going to be shot down anyway, we may as well go trying something heroic.”

“Absolutely,” Dave said, chuckling as he turned the plane in a general northwestern direction. “So what’s the injury report?”

“Monaghan, Boyd, and the captain gravely injured, everyone else ambulatory.”

Wenham nodded, looking at Dom’s slumped form. “He doesn’t look like much, does he?” he said, as if to himself.

“I suppose he doesn’t,” Hans-Peter replied softly. “He would be the first to say that he wasn’t worth all of this, you know.”

The radio crackled back to life and a soft, flat American voice read out a series of seemingly random numbers three times. Hans-Peter sighed in relief.

“That was Viggo. He’s expecting us and will have medical staff waiting at the airport.”

“Wait, did you just say at the airport? He gave you the coordinates for Kloten?” Wenham repeated incredulously.

Hans-Peter looked down at the sheet of paper he’d copied the numbers down onto and less than a minute later he nodded. “That is exactly what he did.”

“Did he also give you something we could tell the Swiss authorities when they ask us why we are violating their airspace?”

“He said it would be all taken care of by the time we arrive. They will have our flight plan registered and we will be allowed to land with no issue.”

Wenham raised an eyebrow as he set the coordinates and made a tight turn to their new course. “Who is this Viggo and how does he have the power to smooth this over?”

“He’s…well, let’s just say that he is highly valued as a man who can get things done and leave it at that, shall we?”

The cockpit door opened and Bean stuck his head in. “We’ve turned?” Bean’s brow furrowed as he saw Monaghan, obviously unconscious, in the co-pilot’s chair. “What’s the plan, sir?”

“We are going to Zurich to get help from some bloke called Viggo. Whoever is still alive afterwards will return to England at which point I’ll either be forcibly retired or sent to Canada where I will teach new pilots how to fly Lancasters for the duration of the war,” Wenham said cheerfully.

“Sir…”

“Listen up, Sergeant Bean. That man back there? He saved my brother and a hell of a lot of others besides. I think, given those circumstances, that I can try to do this for him. Now kindly go back and make sure he survives until we touch down in Zurich.”

Bean was overcome. He made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob before nodding and retreating back to the cabin.

After the door was shut behind Bean, Wenham turned back to von Hueber. “So what’s your story, mate?”

A self-deprecating smirk twisted a corner of Hans-Peter’s mouth. “I was an Allied spy working with Dom. I was inadvertently exposed and he brought me out with him.”

“How long have you known him?”

“Our families have been allies and friends for generations. Dom and I learnt to walk together.”

Dave whistled.

“Yes,” Hans-Peter said quietly, a lot of emotion packed into the single word.

Dave checked the fuel level and then noticeably increased the speed.

1 May 1942 Zurich, Switzerland 185 miles NW of Marburg

Wenham sighed heavily as he taxied the plane toward the cargo terminal of the Zurich-Kloten airport. True to his word, Mortensen had arranged for the C-47 to enter Swiss airspace with no questions asked. Wenham was caught between desperately wanting to know how that was possible and not wanting anything to do with it. As they got closer to the building, he saw a group of people outside the open doors of a cargo hold. There were three stretchers standing by and ambulances to the side of the runway.

They had sent a “follow me” jeep out to lead him in and now there was a man on the tarmac giving him semaphore messages as to exactly where to park the plane. He moved into position and shut the engines down straight away, not wanting to keep the medical personnel waiting any longer than absolutely necessary.

Von Hueber was unstrapped and working on getting Monaghan out of his straps. Dom was ashen and pale and his hands shook as he tried to get his friend loose.

Dave put a hand on von Hueber’s shoulder. “I’ll get him. Go on out to the cabin and make sure someone gets up here.”

*********

Hans-Peter opened the door to controlled chaos in the cabin. Medical personnel were everywhere, talking loudly to be heard over everything else as they triaged their patients. One group already had Boyd mostly down the stairs although it was slow going. One of the ambulances had pulled right up to the bottom of the stairs and as the medical crew finally got Boyd to the bottom, they immediately loaded him onto a stretcher and into the back of the vehicle. It had started driving even before the doors were all the way shut behind the medics.

Hans-Peter reached for the nearest medic. “We’ve got one more in the cockpit who is terribly injured.”

The doctor nodded and grabbed another medic and Hans-Peter moved out of the way so they could get Dom. There was nowhere he could go that wasn’t in someone’s way so he simply descended the stairs and stood to the side of the plane.

“Hans-Peter,” came that soft, flat American voice.

“Viggo,” Hans-Peter said, turning to shake Mortensen’s hand. “I don’t know how to thank you for this.”

At that moment, another ambulance pulled up close to the stairs and Dom was carried carefully down the stairs and loaded in. Mortensen frowned. “What the fuck happened, Hans-Peter?”

“To sum up, Dominic was turned in by my father and was being hunted by the SD. MI6 sent in a crew to pick him up. We all got into a firefight as we were trying to leave and now here we are in Zurich.”

Viggo’s mouth curved into a half-smile. “Dominic Monaghan is not about to be taken out by any random Nazi, Hansel.”

Hans-Peter tried to return the smile but his was a weak, wobbly imitation. “So I’ve tried telling myself, Vig.”

Viggo reached over and squeezed Hans-Peter’s shoulder. “What else have we got in there?” he asked, gesturing toward the plane.

“One more injured badly and at least two more ambulatory. It was a mess.”

Serkis was being brought down as the last ambulance pulled up to the stairs. He was loaded in as Wenham, Bean, Bloom, and Urban slowly climbed down under their own power. Bloom and Urban got into the ambulance with Serkis and it pulled away quickly.

Wenham and Bean walked slowly over to von Hueber and Mortensen.

“Viggo Mortensen,” he introduced himself and shook both men’s hands as they offered their names in return.

Bean studied Mortensen. This was not a man to take lightly and he could definitely appreciate that.

Viggo smiled. “Come on, I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

*********

Bill hurt. He blinked open his eyes and saw the white walls, smelled the medicinal stench and knew he most certainly was not dead. “I’m going to kill them all,” he mumbled under his breath.


	13. Chapter 13

4 May 1942, London

Bill hurt. He blinked open his eyes and saw the white walls, smelled the medicinal stench and knew he most certainly was not dead. “Going to kill them all,” he mumbled.

“Mmm?” floated over from somewhere to his right.

He tried to turn his head to see who was with him but he had no strength and only ended up in the same position but more in pain than before. He growled in frustration as his heavy eyelids slid shut again.

“Bill?” Sleep-gritted, bastardized Scottish accent. Sean, Billy thought hazily, and would have smiled if he’d had the strength for it. “Bill? You in pain, mate?” Bean’s voice was much clearer now, filled with concern and intense relief. Billy felt hands cup his head gently. “Can you open your eyes for me, Billy-my-lad?”

“Did he wake up?” Billy instantly recognized Orlando’s anxious voice and cursed his inability to answer.

“He mumbled something and then groaned, so he must be close to waking anyway,” Bean replied calmly, his fingers gently massaging Billy’s temples. “Better get the doctor, yeah?”

“On it,” Orlando said, his voice sounding distant as Billy began to lose his fight to stay conscious. The last thing he heard was the door shutting.

 

His eyes blinked open blearily. This time, he could make out his entire team crowded around his bed, their faces wreathed with grins of relief.

“Kill you all,” he slurred.

“Blame Monaghan,” Karl said. “Orli had the last dose ready to go, and then there he was, barking orders and going on about saving your life by diverting to Switzerland. What were we supposed to do, eh? He outranked everyone else there.”

Billy managed to show his disapproval with the slightest movement of an eyebrow and a soft grunt.

“I would’ve done it, Billy,” Orlando said quietly. “If there had been nothing to be done, I would’ve given it to you.”

Billy nodded and his eyelids fluttered as his strength failed him. “Bastards,” he mumbled as his eyes slid shut and didn’t reopen.

“Love you too, Bill,” Karl said.

Billy’s lips twitched into a tiny smile before evening out again as he fell asleep.

Two floors up

Dom was going stir-crazy. He’d been awake for little more than a day, his leg hurt him no matter what dose of painkiller he was on and he didn’t have the strength yet to move around. He was getting no information on any of the men who had been injured rescuing him and he had been allowed no visitors except for doctors and nurses up to this point. He was tired, in pain and frustrated with his circumstances. He sighed angrily and considered calling for a nurse just to see if he could badger some information out of someone when the door opened and his brother Matthew stepped into the room.

“Ah, you’re awake, then. Excellent.”

“Ah, your powers of observation haven’t deserted you in my absence, then. Excellent.”

Matt rolled his eyes. “Don’t waste time, Dom. No one knows I’m up here yet so if you want some information, ask fast.”

“Why are you sneaking in here?”

Matt smirked. “Ian wanted to give you a day or so to recover your senses before subjecting you to any kind of interrogation--either official or from your relieved relatives. No one is supposed to know you’re here until you’ve been cleared medically and then debriefed.”

“And look how much good it did me to try to keep it quiet,” came a cool voice from the doorway.

“Ian,” Matt said, grinning cheekily over his shoulder.

McKellen strode into the room and, ignoring Matthew, stood at Dominic’s bedside and looked down at the injured young man, his eyes shining brightly. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you, Dominic,” he said quietly.

“Happy enough to explain what the hell happened? How did we get here? What about Boyd and his team? I’m going crazy here and no one will tell me anything!”

McKellen reached down and gently squeezed Dom’s shoulder. “Calm down, Dominic, I have your answers. No one would tell you anything because they don’t know. They don’t even know your real name. They think you were all caught in a bomb blast. I needed to keep your arrival absolutely secret for your own protection because we still don’t know where the leak came from.”

“You can stop worrying about the leak. It didn’t come from this side,” Dom said, his voice a mixture of bitter sadness.

“Who then?” Ian’s frown was formidable.

“It was Werner, Ian. He felt that our circle was too close to being uncovered and he did what he felt needed to be done to protect the greater good.”

“By turning you in?” Matt demanded angrily. “What was he thinking?”

“He was thinking that I would do whatever was necessary to protect the group and he was right. If I had been detained, they would have gotten nothing.”

There was a long moment of tense silence as both Matt and Ian realized how close they had really come to losing Dom.

“Still,” Matt said into the silence, “I can’t believe Werner wouldn’t have given you some sort of warning. I mean, he had to know that you would take measures to protect yourself, right?”

“I spoke with him before we left Germany and he said there was supposed to be a communiqué. I believed him because he had no reason to lie at that point.”

“You spoke with him?” Ian’s eyebrow rose.

“He tried to convince Hans-Peter to stay with him. I…” Dom paused and then swallowed past the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. “I think he’s dead, Ian. I can’t imagine he’d be allowed to live.”

“We’ll monitor the usual channels and see what we can find out,” Ian said. “You believe the leak to be sealed, though?”

“Yes,” Dom said, nodding. “Between Hansel and I, we can re-establish contact with some of our people. The information will be of a lower quality, but we don’t have to lose everything or start from scratch.”

“Yes, as to the matter of Hans-Peter,” Ian said evenly, “To say I was surprised to see him step off that plane would be a bit of an understatement.”

“I couldn’t leave him there, Ian,” Dom said defensively, shaking his head. “Not after all he’s done for the cause and for me, personally. Anyway, he’ll be the best liaison between British and American intelligence you’ll ever find.”

“An excellent suggestion,” Ian said thoughtfully. “I shall mention that to Weaving when I get back to the office.”

“Glad to have been of assistance,” came Dominic’s sarcastic reply.

“As to the question regarding how you came to be in England,” Ian smoothly changed the subject, ignoring Dom’s jibe, “You were flown here as soon as you were all stable enough to make the journey from Switzerland. What do you remember?”

“I remember being in the plane and ordering Wenham to divert to Zurich. Also, I remember hearing Matt on the radio saying he would see me soon. Then I woke up here. How long ago was that?”

“That was three days ago, May first. You spent the rest of May first in surgery as they tried to repair your shattered leg and most of May second in recovery. You were kept heavily medicated until you arrived here early in the morning of May third. Once you were admitted, you were then allowed to wake up on your own and you know the rest.”

“What about the team? Serkis, Bloom? What about Boyd…did he make it?”

“Serkis will be fine,” Ian said with a smirk. “He’ll need some extended recovery time and he won’t be running long distances but he should be back to getting himself into scrapes before any of us are ready. Lieutenant Bloom was treated for a gunshot wound to his upper left arm; Second Lieutenant Urban was treated for several gouge wounds on his legs, arms and torso; Sergeant Bean was treated for aggravating a previous shoulder injury. Major Boyd was a far more serious matter, but he is alive and recovering here in England.”

Dom released the breath he’d been holding. Bill was alive. “I would like to see him.”

“No,” Ian said.

“No?” Dom was completely taken aback.

“Major Boyd is still in critical condition, Dom, he isn’t going to be able to come here to see you and you are not going anywhere with that leg in the shape it is in, so, no, you won’t be seeing him anytime soon.”

“I said them,' Dom replied, a small frown appearing on his face. “Didn’t I?”

“You said ‘him,’ Dommie,” Matt said, a hint of mischievousness in his tone.

“Well, I meant _all_ of them, but I’ll take the ones who can move around first, I suppose.”

“I’ll look into getting that arranged,” McKellen said.

“And while you’re looking into arranging that, Ian, see if you can’t find some way for me to see Hans-Peter as well, won’t you?” Dom said, heavily sarcastic. He hadn’t seen nor heard from Hans-Peter since he’d woken and it was unacceptable, especially since Hans-Peter had been on the mission. “It isn’t as if you have to keep the truth from _him_ , right?”

“Your tone is offensive, Dominic,” McKellen said coolly.

“Well, pardon me for feeling as if I’m owed something at the moment, Brigadier, sir,” Dom snapped, the pain and frustration getting to him. He loathed losing control in such a petty manner and that only made matters worse.

“You’d be owed a court-martial if you were actually in the military,” McKellen continued. “Really, Dominic, Lieutenant Colonel? Whatever possessed you to say such a thing to Wenham?”

“Unrequited love and hope for the eventual fulfillment of his hidden desires?” Matt supplied helpfully.

“Fuck. You.” Dom glared at his brother who looked completely unrepentant.

“Matthew, you are not helping,” Ian said, his lips twitching minutely.

“Sorry, sir,” Matt replied although it was obvious he wasn’t. “I’ll go check in on Serkis while you finish up in here. See you soon, Dom,” he added as he left the room.

Silence settled over the room as the door shut behind Matt and Dom wanted nothing more than to have his next dose of medicine and close his eyes to everything.

“I’m not the villain here, Dominic. These restrictions are in place to protect you.”

Dom sighed heavily. “I know. I just… Everything has been shot to hell and I want some familiarity. Right now, that’s Hans-Peter and the men I’ve just been through the fire with. And you’re standing there telling me that I can’t see them.”

“I told you that I would look into arranging for you to see them, Dominic. There’s no reason why you can’t if the leak did not involve anyone on this side. Although considering you lied to an officer of higher rank in the field, it might not be a good idea to further incriminate yourself in his presence.”

Dom saw a glint of amusement in McKellen’s eyes so he wasn’t too worried about the words themselves, only what they were intimating. “Wenham knows, then?”

“Oh yes. I think Matthew choking with laughter and spitting out, ‘he told you he was a _what_?’ spoiled the façade quite spectacularly for the whole team.”

Dom hung his head. “I am going to kill him and make it look like a tragic accident,” he grumbled under his breath.

“Actually, I think you went up in their estimation, Dominic. An odd bunch, Boyd’s team.”

“Oh yes,” Dom agreed readily. “But you won’t find a steadier bunch under fire, Ian. They were incredible. And to function as a part of that, even for such a short time…well, it was an honour.”

Ian smiled. “Each of them said you acquitted yourself well and I’m sure you know that these men are not easily impressed or likely to give false praise.”

Dom nodded. “I do know that. To be honest, I’m a bit…surprised, I suppose, that they would say that to you. Or to whoever debriefed them, anyway. I mean, it wasn’t part of the official questioning, was it?”

“No it wasn’t,” Ian said. “But they apparently decided that they wanted their remarks to be a part of the official transcript and so it has been duly noted.”

“I’m sure it has,” Dom said with a self-deprecating snort. “Dominic Monaghan acquitted himself well under fire from his German pursuers before getting himself crippled which then caused the leader of the mission to be shot repeatedly.”

“Major Boyd will recover, Dominic.”

“Not the point, Ian.”

“What is the point then?”

Dom’s eyes flashed but he held his tongue.

“You obviously have something to say, Dominic. Please, by all means, enlighten me.”

“Those men shouldn’t have been there at all,” Dom snapped. “You broke just about every rule in the book by sending them in there. You didn’t even know where I was, you were only guessing!”

“That’s true.”

“So you’ll sit there and agree with me about how stupid it was. That’s just grand for us, isn’t it, but what about Bloom who’s got a shot up arm, eh? What about Urban who’s cut up all over his body from climbing up and down trees too quickly? What about Bean or even your own man, Serkis, who may never walk right again?”

“Some people would say that you being here alive is worth that and more,” McKellen replied quietly.

Dom shook his head. “It’s not, though. I could have gotten myself out. Even with Hans-Peter I could’ve done it myself. My God, Ian, you sent them on what amounted to a suicide mission.”

“And yet you are all back here and alive, with full recovery expected for most.”

“A stroke of luck for which I am very grateful,” Dom said, rubbing his face tiredly. “I want to be so angry with you for what you did, Ian, because the suffering these men went through on my behalf was completely unnecessary.”

“But you aren’t?”

Dom sighed. “I remember when I first decided I was going to take this route and not come to England, you told me that no matter what had to be done, if I needed you, you would come for me.”

“And you told me that you couldn’t imagine needing that sort of assistance.”

“I was right,” Dom replied. “No one knew what I was doing, Ian. I was good at my job. The point is, though, that I can’t be angry at you for keeping a promise, even one I never asked you to make.” Dom rubbed his face again, a wave of pain twisting his features for a moment.

Ian stood. “I’m going to go now, Dom. Take your medication and try to rest. I will see about getting the men in to see you.”

“Thank you, Ian,” he said, reaching out his hand.

Ian shook Dom’s hand, squeezing it gently before releasing it. “Rest. You’ll need it.”

Dom took the pills as Ian left the room and a few minutes later he slipped into a dreamless sleep.

5 May 1942

Dom was lying in bed stewing in his frustration. He had heard nothing from Ian, Matt or anyone else that day and his mood had not gotten better as the afternoon had worn on. He heard the door knob turning and fought to banish the scowl that had haunted his face all afternoon; it wasn’t the staff’s fault that his family and government were all miserable wankers. The door swung open and Sergeant Bean entered, followed by Bloom, Urban, and Wenham.

“How are you feeling, _sir_?” Wenham asked, smiling.

“Fuck off, Wenham,” Dom said, rolling his eyes.

Bean chuckled. “Were you always so quick with a tale?”

“Matt, Hans-Peter and I were the bane of our families’ existence.”

“Hans-Peter,” Orlando said, nodding his head. “Good bloke.”

The others immediately assented and Dom’s eyebrow rose.

“He _did_ save Billy,” Karl said when he saw Dom’s face.

“And he came to check up on all of us regularly until some bloody stuffed shirt came and took him away. Haven’t seen him since and that’s been at least two days,” Orlando said. “Is he being interrogated?”

“If you know where he is, we could go in and retrieve him,” Karl said, the gleam of Adventure in his eyes.

Dom chuckled. “I begin to see the true Special Forces mentality shining through.”

“No, in Karl’s case that’s just straight insanity,” Bean said, straight-faced.

“Nothing straight about him except his posture,” Orlando muttered.

Karl smirked as the others laughed. “And that says what about you, then, Orlando?”

“That he’s either just as insane as you or that much of an idiot,” Wenham suggested helpfully.

“Oh, Daisy, you simply _must_ join our merry little fellowship,” Karl chortled. “I’m sure Billy would let you in if you asked nicely.”

Dom was enjoying the interaction, but at the same time, he felt like an outsider. These men were a true team, even Wenham to a lesser degree, and he wasn’t a part of that. For all of his training and intelligence, Dom was a lone wolf, made so by circumstances in the field. Watching the by-play drove that home all the more powerfully, because though each of the men in this room with him were probably considered lone wolves in their own right, together they were more. Boyd had, probably through unconventional and borderline court-martial worthy methods, nurtured that and it had blossomed into the team before him. Boyd.

“Not to completely deflate the mood, but how _is_ Major Boyd?”

“He’s…coming along,” Bean replied.

Dom frowned. “Complications?”

“Well, he isn’t recovering as fast as he might’ve a few years ago. Plus he was shot three times.”

“Three?”

“Apparently he was hit in one of the initial volleys as well as the two we were aware of,” Bean said, sighing. “According to the medical staff he actually died twice, but they managed to bring him back.”

“ _Twice_?” Dom cried, his eyes widening. He realized that he was likely making a spectacle of himself and tried to school his features into less of a telling expression. It wouldn’t do to show any of these men that he felt anything more than generic concern for Major Boyd.

Bean’s eyes narrowed, studying him, and Dom could only hold that intense gaze for a few moments before his eyes slid down and away.

“Dom,” Bean began gently.

He was interrupted by Dominic’s doctor coming into the room and shooing the team out. Dom tried to argue, but was overridden by the doctor who said he had some tests to run and some questions to ask. The men all shook hands with Dom and left the room, muttering under their collective breath about pushy cunts who thought too much of themselves.

Dom sighed in frustration as they left. He tried not to take it out on the doctor because it certainly wasn’t the doctor’s fault that McKellen was treating Dom as if he were on the brink of death, and not just suffering from an injured leg. He submitted to having blood drawn and answered whatever questions the doctor asked, even took his dose of medication without complaint. He would get nowhere by being contrary. Soon enough, the painkillers went into effect, and he slid out of consciousness.

Later that night

When Billy next awoke, Bean was beside his bed.

“Bill, we need to talk about Monaghan.”

Billy was too drugged and tired to hide the pronounced wince at the young man’s name.

“I imagine the lad feels quite the same, Billy. We got to see him earlier this evening and…well, I’d say he’s hiding something, but I can’t think of anything he’s got to hide from us. What do you ken, Bill?”

Billy sighed heavily. “I fucked up, Sean.”

“How so?”

“In Germany, I – I kissed him.”

“What? When?” Bean’s eyes widened as the answer came to him a moment later. “My God! In the tunnels! He came into camp looking distracted, but I chalked it up to the happenings. Bill—“

Billy’s eyes slid shut for a long moment before he opened them again. “I know, Sean. It was…ah, hell. It was time for switching watch, and we were having a quick tease, yeah? Well, he got this _look_ on his face and I asked if I wanted to know what he’d been thinking of and he said – Jesus, Sean – he said he’d been thinking about my mouth around his cock! I have no excuse for what I did, I just lost it and kissed him until I thought I’d die from the grandness of it.”

“Sounds like you’d like to do it again,” Sean ventured, smiling to himself over the mental image of Dom telling Billy he wanted his cock sucked by that mouth. That wasn’t that much of a surprise, really. Billy’s mouth had probably featured in every Glasgow lad’s fantasies at least once. What was a surprise was hearing Billy admit that he’d been affected by it.

“You have no idea,” Billy said, shamefaced.

“If it’s worth anything, I’m fairly sure he wouldn’t mind a bit more of that himself.”

“I can’t,” Billy replied, shaking his head. “That’s not something I’m free to pursue, Sean. Ewan—“

“Is dead,” Bean interjected gently.

“Yes, thanks,” Billy snapped. “Good you were here to remind me of that, it tends to slip my mind.”

“Not fair, Bill.” Bean kept his voice low and even. This was careful treading even when Bill was healthy and fully possessed of his mental faculties.

“Let me tell you what isn’t fair, Sean,” Billy said, his voice harsh with pain and emotion. “What’s not fair is being one fucking needle away from my mate and having it snatched away from me again. What’s not _fair_ is finding that I get to go on trying to live without him and then receiving a fucking lecture about how it’s all right to kiss another man so soon after his death.”

Sean was gobsmacked, there was no other word for it. He was sure that not one of team would have considered that Bill might have _wanted_ to die in the plane. He knew Billy was still actively mourning Ewan—fuck, they _all_ were--and God, but now that he thought on it, how selfish they all seemed, to bring Bill back like they had. He stopped that train of thought immediately. It hadn’t been Billy’s time yet. If it had been, he would be dead no matter how many heroic measures had been taken, of that Bean was sure. He realized that Bill had continued ranting, and that he’d missed all of it, consumed in his own thoughts.

“Just calm the fuck down, Boyd,” he cut in roughly, hoping to end the tirade. “You’re too sick to make sense right now so just shut it and rest.”

“Oh, I like that,” Billy snarled. “You come in here and—“

“Bill!”

“ _What_?”

“Remember when Gerry was in hospital after Tobruk and he was going on and on about how life was over and what was left for him and you slapped him? I am two seconds from doing that to you if you don’t _shut it_.”

Billy stared at him for a moment, opened his mouth as if to speak and then shut it again.

“I’m sorry, Billy. I am. Last thing I wanted was to hurt you, mate. I just needed to know about Monaghan.”

Billy nodded curtly.

Sean sighed as he stood up and walked toward the door.

“Sean.”

“Yes?”

“I want to go home.”

Sean looked over his shoulder. “Bill…I don’t think—“

“Shouldn’t matter where I’m recovering,” Billy broke in. He met Bean’s intense gaze head on. “I just want to be home, Sean.”

“I’ll see what can be done, Billy. Just-–rest, all right?”

Billy nodded as he lay back in the bed, his earlier outburst clearly having sapped what little strength he’d had.

Sean sighed again as he left the room. Billy would need more medication now. He went looking for a nurse.

*********

The door opened and everyone looked up expectantly as Bean entered Karl and Orlando’s room.

“How’s Bill?” Orlando asked quietly. Sean looked fucking knackered, he thought.

“In pain and cranky as fuck,” Sean replied, running a hand over his face. “Says he wants to go home.”

Orlando noticed that Sean’s hands were shaking a bit. Tired, yes, but likely whatever Bean had wanted to discuss with Billy privately hadn’t gone very well. The fact that not even Karl offered up a snappy rejoinder spoke to the seriousness with which the men were taking the matter.

“We’ll need to speak with the Brigadier, then,” Orlando said. Murmured assent could be heard from all around the small room. “We can’t all go bursting into his office, though, he won’t listen to a mob report. This has to be official. I suggest Bean and Wenham.”

“It might be easier if it were just me,” Wenham suggested.

“You have to have back-up,” Orlando replied. “Even if Sean doesn’t say a word, we don’t go into situations alone.”

Wenham nodded, accepting the statement. Orlando wondered if the man realized he’d been inducted into the team or if he was just humouring them all. It was hard to tell with Wenham.

“All right,” Bean said, rubbing his face again. “We’ll go first thing in the morning. You remember how to get there?”

Wenham smiled. “Absolutely. I’ve been there more than the once.”

“Really?” Karl said, drawing the word out, his eyebrow rising.

“How d’you think the Brigadier knew who to call to fly your crazy arses into the sunset?” Wenham said, chuckling. “He didn’t just pull my name out of a hat and hope I would be insane enough to do the job.”

“I suppose I never thought about it much,” Karl laughed. “Just figured he had some bloody list of mentally challenged folk he could call on if needs be.”

“Well,” Wenham snorted as he stood and crossed the room to the door. “That one is so easy I’m not even going to go there. Have a good night, boys. If I’ve got to surprise Brigadier McKellen in the morning, I’m off to rest up first.”

Everyone called out their farewells as the door shut behind him.

“He _does_ understand that he’s one of us now, right?” Karl asked.

“Dunno,” Orli said thoughtfully. “I was thinking of that earlier. It’s hard to tell with him yet. We’ll have to keep him around awhile and get him acclimated.”

Bean chuckled. “Lord help him.”

“He doesn’t need the Lord, he’s got us now,” Karl said, smirking.

6 May 1942, Ministry of Defence

Wenham and Bean marched smartly into the outer waiting room of Brigadier McKellen’s office. There was a woman behind the desk, not Mrs. Woodrich, who eyed them suspiciously as they stopped in front of the desk.

“May I help you?”

“Wing Commander David Wenham and Sergeant Sean Bean here for Brigadier McKellen, please.”

She looked down at her desk for a moment. “You’re not on the list.”

“No, we’re not,” Wenham said agreeably. “We’ll just have a seat here and wait until the Brigadier has a moment for us, thanks.” He then turned and began walking toward the seating on the other side of the spacious room, pulling a thoroughly amused Bean with him.

They settled down to wait.

Two hours later, Brigadier McKellen strode in accompanied by two other men. He slowed momentarily as he caught sight of them, but then continued on into his office and shut the door behind him.

Bean glanced at Wenham. “Guess we’ll be waiting awhile longer then.”

“Don’t bet on it,” Wenham replied, smiling. “He’s a busy man, but he’s also curious. Likely it won’t be too much longer.”

Wenham proved correct. The two men left McKellen’s office fifteen minutes later. Ten minutes after that, the phone on the front desk rang. Two minutes later, Wenham and Bean were shown into McKellen’s office.

“You have five minutes,” McKellen announced. “Why are you here?”

“It’s about Major Boyd, sir,” Wenham said quickly. “He wants to recover at home in Glasgow, and I thought, considering that he almost died on your mission, sir, that you could possibly see your way to authorizing that transfer.”

McKellen simply stared at them, saying nothing.

“Very good, sir,” Wenham said evenly. “Sorry to have wasted your time.” He turned to leave.

“I don’t remember dismissing you, Wenham.”

“Sir?”

“How do you propose to get Major Boyd to Glasgow? He won’t last a road trip, and we have no military planes to spare for such an event.”

“In all honesty, sir, I thought of offering my services in exchange. If there are any officers or other higher ranking officials who needed, say, a last minute flight up North, then we could put Major Boyd in the back. They need never even know he’s on board, sir. I could get him to Glasgow and then return again with either the same passengers or any others that might need a ride from that area.”

“You would fly a ferrying trip, Wenham? I remember a past conversation we had where you distinctly said you detested such things.”

“I do, sir. Not much I hate worse than flying some self-important armchair warriors from one safe place to another, but for Major Boyd? I would make as many exceptions as you deem necessary, sir.”

The phone on McKellen’s desk rang. “I’ve another appointment, gentlemen.”

“Thank you for your time, sir,” Wenham said. “We’ll see ourselves out.”

“Thank you, sir,” Bean added as the two of them exited the office. 

6 May 1942, Hospital

Wenham and Bean were filling the rest of the team in when the door opened and Matthew Monaghan walked in.

“Wenham, the Brigadier asked me to tell you that there is a plane which has been out of commission for several weeks. It is getting ready to be re-entered into the active flight roster. He’d like it to be flown to, say, Glasgow and back to make sure it runs all right. He understands this is not your typical run, but wonders if this is something you would consider doing for him?”

Dave stared for a moment before shaking himself into action. “I—yes, absolutely!”

Matthew nodded, still business like, but then dropped the façade. “I’ll take care of the transfer from here to the plane. By the time you land in Glasgow, we’ll have someone waiting to pick Major Boyd up at the other end.” He paused, clearly debating on whether to go forward with what was on his mind. “I must say I’m curious, though. Even this short trip could set him back or worse, so why now?”

“Because,” Bean replied before anyone else could. “He asked to go home and, as far as I’m concerned, we owe it to him to get him there.”

Matthew nodded again, accepting the answer even though each of the men in the room could tell he still had something on his mind. “All right, well, good luck then, gentlemen. The plane will be waiting for you and the flight plan will already be filed.”

He strode out of the room purposefully as Bean looked around at each of the men. “Looks like Billy’s going home.”

*********

Matthew headed towards the office of the Commanding Officer of the hospital. He still had work to do, details to take care of for Ian and Major Boyd. Like everyone else involved in this crazy scheme, Boyd had earned his respect, and his willingness to bend more rules than usual. He was torn, though. He’d wanted Boyd to stay here, he’d wanted to get to know the man better, and he’d wanted the chance to see Boyd and Dom together again after so many years. Matt had badly wished to see Dom’s face once he realized that it was Boyd come to rescue him again, and now he wouldn’t even get to see the remnants of that meeting. He sighed and decided that he would pay his little brother a visit before leaving the hospital.

*********

Dom looked up from his journal as his door opened. His face relaxed into a grin when he saw who it was.

“Matty!”

“Hey there, little man.”

Dom rolled his eyes. “Taller than you, anyway,” he said, smirking as he used his pen to save his place in the journal, and set it beside him on the bed. “So, what brings you to Hell, then?”

“Official business.”

“Official business that you’re going to tell me about?”

“Yeah. It’s about Major Boyd. I thought you’d like to know.”

“I would,” Dom said, leaning forward, his eyes questioning. “He’s not getting worse, is he? He’s going to be all right?”

“He’s doing as well as can be expected,” Matt replied with a small sigh. “He must’ve been in brilliant physical shape to have even made it this far.”

“He was,” Dom said, his eyes going distant as he remembered his own encounter with that body. Even hindered by the layers of clothing, he’d been able to tell Boyd had been in excellent shape, and he’d wanted nothing more than to feel that body against his without barrier.

“Dom, come back from your hormone-soaked daydream. I don’t have all day and I’d like to talk to you, not watch you drool.”

Dom jerked back into focus and glared at his brother, who only rolled his eyes.

“So talk then.”

“Major Boyd’s about to be moved.”

“Moved?” Dom exclaimed, surprised. “But you just said—“

“He asked to go home, Dom, so he’s being sent home. I’ve been here getting it all set up but I wanted to tell you before I left. I’ve still got lots to do to work the other end of his trip and I have to go soon, but like I said, I thought you’d want to know.”

“I asked to go home, too, Matt, and I got told to fuck off. My home is less than an hour from here. Billy’s from Glasgow and he’s getting sent home in the shape he’s in? Will he even make it?”

“Wenham’s flying him. He should make it all right.”

“Wenham’s a good bloke. He’ll take care with him,” Dom said quietly, nodding.

“Dom…”

Dom met his brother’s eyes and saw the concern and it irritated him. “What, Matt?”

“I know you were hoping to get to spend some time with him down the line and—“

“I will,” Dom said, determination evident in his voice and posture. “I’ll get healthy enough eventually and then I’m going to Glasgow, Matt. Because there’s something there worth fighting for and I’m willing to wage that battle.”

“And it’s not just you and your memories of a teenaged crush?”

“No, it’s not. He knows I’m not just a kid anymore, he’s very much aware of that fact, even if he doesn’t want to be.”

“Something happened in Germany?”

“We kissed. There was potential for more. I want to know how much more.”

Matt’s jaw dropped. “You kissed him?”

“Actually, he kissed me, thanks.”

“And you think it was for reasons other than the fact that any of you could die at any given moment and that maybe you were just there when the mood struck him?”

“God, Matt, you really know how to build a man’s confidence, don’t you?”

“I just…this has crash and burn written all over it, Dom. I mean, it’s one thing to have a crush on a man when you’re a boy and then meet him again later in life, still be physically attracted and find yourselves in a situation where a move might be made and enjoyed. It’s quite another to assume that signals the start of something deeper.”

Dom sighed heavily. “You’re making perfect sense, Matt. Okay? I hear what you’re saying to me. Now fuck off, won’t you? I’ve got a future to daydream about and you’ve got to take the man I want in it hundreds of miles away from me.”

“You do realize that when you finally go to Glasgow, I’ll be driving you, right?” Matt said, chuckling.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Dom said, offering a small smile.

Matt shook his head and leaned down to gently hug his brother. “Get some rest, Bernie, Uncle Ian’s telling the family you’re here and alive tonight.”

“What?”

“Yeah. He thinks you’ll be sprung in a day or two. My guess is Mum and Katherine will be down to Summerfield by tomorrow afternoon getting it ready for you.”

“Oh God,” Dom moaned, his hand covering his eyes.

Matt snickered as he crossed the room and opened the door to leave. “Don’t worry, Dom, it’s only been six years since they’ve seen you. I’m sure they’ll give you plenty of space to yourself in no time.”

“You are an evil man to enjoy my pain, Matthew.”

“Speak to you soon, brother-mine,” he said with a smile as he closed the door behind him.

“If I don’t kill you or myself first,” Dom muttered, rubbing his face. But he had a plan now, half-formed though it might be at the moment. He would put up with his mother and sister, and anyone else who chose to coddle him, until he was strong enough to get up to Glasgow. And then, then he would find Major Boyd. They had a future to discuss.


	14. Chapter 14

15 September 1942

Dom’s leg hurt. He leaned back and closed his eyes, trying to ride through the wave of pain.

“All right?” Matt asked anxiously, looking over at his brother in the passenger seat.

“Just hurts. It’ll settle in a few minutes,” Dom replied, not opening his eyes.

“Maybe we should—“

Dom could feel the weight of his brother’s gaze and worry. “For fuck's sake, Matthew, it’s not going to fall off during this trip, and I’m not going to suddenly keel over and die from some pain.”

Matt huffed out a sigh. “I’m just—“

“Don’t make me have to kill you, Matt. My leg may still be weak, but I can take you, I guarantee it.” Matt laughed and Dom felt some of his irritation dissolve as a smile pulled at his lips.

“You’re such a wanker, Dom.”

“And you’re my brother so what does that make you, then?”

“The brother of a wanker, wanker,” Matt said, rolling his eyes.

“I hate you so much right now.”

“I want you to know that it’s okay Dominic, because I understand that, according to your odd wankerish logic, when you say you hate me you mean that you really love me.”

Dom finally chuckled, albeit reluctantly. “Matt?”

“Yes?”

“Just shut it and drive.”

 

“Dom?” Matt asked a few minutes later.

“Yeah?”

“What are you going to do when we get there? I mean, what if he’s angry or if things don’t go the way you’re hoping?”

Dom sighed. “Then we’ll come home, Matt. Nothing else to be done at that point, right? I just…I have to see what’s there, if anything. I have to _know_.”

“All right,” Matt said, nodding.

*********

Dom and Matt stood on the front porch of an older house on the outskirts of Glasgow, waiting for their knock to be answered. The door swung open and a sullen-faced teenaged boy stood in the doorway.

“What do you want?”

“We’re here to see Major Boyd, please,” Matt announced formally.

“Well he’s not here so you can just go back where you came from,” the boy snapped, blue eyes flashing.

Dom shifted to ease the ache in his leg. “We just want to see how he’s doing,” he said evenly. “I was with him when he got injured.”

The boy looked down and saw the cane for the first time. It didn’t seem to make him more inclined to help, though. “If you were with him, then you’re military and you’re not bloody welcome here.”

Both Dom and Matt’s eyebrows shot up at that.

Suddenly a small woman appeared behind the boy. “Cam, who are you bein’ rude to now?” she asked, tucking a stray strand of dark brown hair behind her ear.

“These blokes here are looking for ‘Major Boyd,’” the boy said with an irritated sigh.

“Are they now?” she said, her sharp green eyes giving both Dom and Matt a thorough once-over.

Her eyes are just like Billy’s, Dom thought.

“Cam, get your uncle from the shed,” she said, her voice quietly commanding. Once the boy was on the move, she looked back at the two men on her stoop. “Why don’t you come in and wait,” she said, leading them into the house and back to a small informal dining room off of the kitchen and waving them to sit at the table there. “Now, what can I get you to drink?”

“Coffee?” Matt’s voice was hopeful.

“Sorry, but with the rations, we don’t have any left. Tea? Something cold?”

“Tea would be lovely, thanks,” Dom said, smiling at her.

The woman smiled a little although it didn’t reach her eyes. “May I ask what it is you’re wanting to see him about?”

“Oh, for fuck's sake, the bloody English have invaded,” Sergeant Sean Bean called out loudly as he entered the room.

“Considering you’re English yourself, Sergeant Bean, I’d shut your gob,” Dom retorted, grinning widely.

Dom and Matt stood to shake hands and Bean waved Dom back down. “Sit down before you fall down, git,” he said gruffly. He shook both men’s hands warmly though and when Dom looked back over to the woman, her smile was much friendlier than it had been earlier.

“Maggie, meet the Monaghan brothers, Dominic and Matthew,” Bean said with a grin. “Dom, Matt? This is Billy’s sister, Maggie Butler. And welcome to Glasgow, by the way.”

Maggie’s smile faltered a bit. “That Dominic?”

“Yeah,” Sean replied, nodding. He turned to Dom and Matt. “Billy has nightmares sometimes.”

“Me, too,” Dom said, nodding his understanding. “Scares the life out of my family when I start screaming in the middle of the night. Or day, come to that. The dreams don’t know the difference, yeah?”

Maggie’s eyes softened in compassion. “No, they don’t. My husband is the very same. He was in the military as well, served under Billy from the day they left Glasgow together in 1927, until he was discharged this past year. There’s plenty of bad dreams in this house and that’s for sure.”

Bean walked over to Maggie and threw his arm around her shoulder, hugging her close.

“Did you ever meet my husband Gerry?” Maggie asked quietly. “He was in Shanghai at the same time as Billy and Sean.”

“No, we never met him or any of the rest of team back then, only Bean and Billy,” Dom answered. “They had the lucky duty that day.”

“Whose car is that out front?” a voice from the front of the house floated back as the door was opened.

“Told you, Da, some blokes looking for ‘Major Boyd’ are here,” they could all hear Cam’s sullen voice answer. Maggie’s husband was saying something else to the boy, but it was too low for them to make out.

“You’ll have to forgive my son, the war has taken so much away from him,” Maggie said softly.

Dom and Matt nodded, they could completely understand.

A few moments later a tall dark-haired man entered the kitchen, his intense blue gaze taking in the scene. “Looking for Major Boyd, are you?”

Sean smirked. “They’re not military, Gerry. This is Dominic and Matthew Monaghan. They’ve come to see how Billy’s been getting on.”

Gerry’s eyes widened. “That Dominic?”

“Oh for fuck's sake, yes, I’m apparently _that_ Dominic,” Dom snapped.

Matthew looked bemused, Maggie looked vaguely mortified, Gerry seemed, rightly, confused and Sean just laughed.

“So glad to have amused you, Sergeant Bean.”

“Calm down, Dom, it’s not a slight on you.”

“Truth be told, Dominic,” Gerry said, looking over between Bean and Maggie before meeting Dom’s eyes, “we didn’t think we’d ever meet you and that, more than anything, is what’s got us floundering.”

“But you are more than welcome here,” Maggie rushed to assure them. She took a breath. “Right. Tea. We have powdered milk if you take it, but I’m sorry, we’re near the end of the ration ticket right now so I can’t spare the sugar.”

“Black is fine,” Matt said.

“That’s how we all take it nowadays,” Bean said, grimacing.

Gerry and Bean sat at the table and the cups were set down and poured. “I’ll have some sandwiches in just a few minutes,” Maggie said, smiling.

“So where is Billy?” Dom asked.

“Physical therapy,” Bean answered. “His routine is much longer and more technical than mine is, so I always sneak back before him and get first dibs on the food.”

Chuckles rang out and the mood lightened. Bean asked after Hans-Peter and was informed that the German was happily involved in mediating between American and British Intelligence and that not too long after Dom had gotten out of the hospital, Matt and Hans-Peter had conspired to rescue him from his mother and sister and had moved him into the townhouse they’d been sharing in London. Dom had rolled his eyes at Matt’s, “Finally a rescue mission I could take part in.” They had gotten around to Karl and Orlando, and how they were both faring well in their respective units, when Maggie placed a large platter of sandwiches on the table and pulled up two more chairs. She sat down and they started eating.

A few minutes later, the back door was slamming shut and then Billy came into the room, green eyes widening as he realized who was in his home.

“We have guests for tea, Bill,” Maggie said placidly.

“Yes, I can see that,” Billy replied evenly. Too evenly, Dom thought, and was proved correct by the exchange of glances between Maggie, Gerry and Sean. “Matthew. Dominic.” He nodded to each of them, but he was obviously not happy to see them.

“They came to see how you were getting on,” Gerry offered.

“Oh, I’m sure,” Billy said tightly.

“Sit down and have something to eat, Bill,” Sean said firmly.

Billy ignored him and stalked over to Dom. “Might I have a word with you in private, Dominic?”

“Of course,” Dom said, getting up too quickly and having to grab the back of his chair to balance himself. Billy was already heading to another part of the house and Dom limped heavily after him, his cane forgotten.

*********

Matt looked down at his half-eaten sandwich and pushed the plate away. He’d lost his appetite. Then he noticed the cane. “He’s going to need that soon. He hates it, but he can’t get around very well yet.”

Gerry reached over and laid his hand on Matt’s shoulder. “We’ll give them a few minutes, and then I’ll take it over.”

“I told Dom this was a bad idea,” Matt sighed.

“It may be too soon,” Bean agreed. “Everything is so raw still.”

Matt nodded. “He was so determined. You were in the field with him, Sergeant, even if only for a short time. Can you imagine trying to divert him from a path he’d decided was right?”

“No,” Bean replied with a small smile. “I also have to salute you for knowing it was a bad idea and bringing him anyway, knowing he’d try this whether you were on board or not.”

“Sounds like every last one of you unit boys,” Maggie said, looking at Bean and Gerry.

“They’re quite similar,” Bean agreed. “If the timing had been better it could maybe have worked, but this? Billy won’t stand for this right now.”

There was a muffled thump and Gerry was up and out of his chair. “Why don’t you make use of the porch?” he suggested as he leaned down to pick up the cane. “I’ll just take this over. Sounds like Dominic will need it.”

Matt look worried.

“He’ll be all right, Matt. Angry as Bill might get, he won’t physically hurt your brother. I promise you that. Now go on with you.”

Gerry waited until they were all out of the house and then he took a deep breath and headed over to where Billy’s room was located.

*********

Billy turned on Dom the moment he got all the way into the room. “What are you doing here, Monaghan?” he growled, slamming the door shut as his angry gaze bored into Dom’s surprise-widened eyes.

“I was…” Dom trailed off, swallowing hard. “I just wanted to—“

“What?” Billy cut him off, his voice scathing. “Continue where we left off in the tunnel?”

Dom blinked slowly. This wasn’t exactly how he’d foreseen this going and he was off-balance and unsure of how to… Ahhh, he thought, best defence is offence, is it Major? Well, two can play at that game. “Maybe.”

Billy’s jaw clenched and he stepped right up into Dom’s face. “Whatever it is you’re looking for isn’t here,” he said, tightly. “Leave it alone.” And with that, he turned and began walking back toward the door. Dom watched him cross the room and knew he couldn’t leave it.

He sucked in a breath and limped to where Billy’s hand was turning the knob, grabbing Billy’s shoulder. “Bill—“

Next thing Dom knew, he was against the wall and Billy’s face was only inches from his own, those green eyes flashing dangerously. “You need to leave it alone now, Dominic,” he said, biting off each word precisely.

Dom was caught up in the intensity of those eyes, eyes which had haunted his dreams the past few months and then his gaze slipped down to Billy’s mouth, the lips compressed into a thin line that still somehow started a ribbon of heat low in Dom’s belly. Dom’s tongue darted out to lick his own dry lips.

Billy cursed as he crushed his mouth to Dom’s. The kiss was brutal, their teeth clicking several times as they attacked each other’s mouths, unwilling or unable to slow down or gentle. Dom flattened back against the wall, spreading his legs, unintentionally mirroring their position in the tunnel. Billy moved against him and Dom might’ve felt gratified at the hardness against his hip if he hadn’t been so desperate to get _closer_. His hands moved lower, one clutching tightly at Billy’s trouser waistband, the other sliding further around, gripping one firm arsecheek and moving Billy into direct contact with Dom’s aching arousal. Dom moaned into Billy’s mouth and began thrusting, his need so great he was unable to stop himself.

Billy ripped his mouth from Dom’s and Dom whimpered (and wouldn’t he be embarrassed about _that_ later on) as he tried to recapture those incredible lips again. “Billy, Billy, please…” he chanted as he moved against Billy, his thrusts becoming erratic as he neared his climax.

“Fuck, Dominic, what are you—“ Billy’s breath hitched as Dom gave up trying to kiss him and instead scraped teeth across his chin. “ _doing_ to me? _Christ_!”  
Dom shuddered as Billy’s rough, heavily-accented voice washed over him. God, he was so close, so close… He angled himself so that when he next thrust up, his thick arousal slid all the way along the underside of Billy’s cock. Dom felt Billy’s whole body tense and he pulled Billy harder onto his rigid flesh as he moved forward and back again. Billy pressed his forehead against Dom’s shoulder as he came hard, biting his lip till it bled to keep from crying out. Dom shuddered violently as his own orgasm swept through him.  
They stood together for a few moments, shaking in the aftermath, Dom listening to Billy’s harsh breathing.

Dom moved his head just a bit so that he was closer to Billy’s ear. “All right?” If he hadn’t been concentrating on Billy, he’d have probably been mortified at how hoarse and uneven his voice was right then.

Billy recoiled and pulled away from Dom, turning his back immediately. “Leave. Now.” There was no unevenness in Billy’s tone. In fact, there was nothing, his voice was flat.

Dom stood there, hurt washing over him at the dismissal. Then came the anger. “Look at me, Boyd.”

Billy turned his head half-way towards Dom. It wasn’t enough for Dom to see his face completely, but he knew he had Billy’s attention, anyway.

“I want you to look me in the eye if you’re going to fucking dismiss me. I think I deserve that.”

Billy took a deep breath before he turned to face Dom fully. Dom was surprised at what he saw in Billy’s eyes – pain, sadness, guilt.

“I can’t give you what you think you want,” Billy said quietly.

“I’ll have to beg to differ with you. I believe you just showed me quite clearly that you are capable of giving me exactly what I want,” Dom said pointedly.

Billy’s eyes flashed again. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“No,” Dom said evenly. “I don’t. Explain it to me.” When Billy only glared at him, he sighed. “Please, Billy. Make it very clear.”

“Physically, I do want you,” Billy said in clipped tones. “There’s no point in denying that, but that’s not all you’re after and I can’t give anything else to you, Dominic. Even if that were something I was interested in, I…belong…to someone.”

Dom couldn’t help the flinch that accompanied the last sentence. “Why didn’t you just tell me that before? Wouldn’t that have been simpler than this?” he asked, gesturing between the two of them.

“I told you to leave it. You’re the one who pushed.”

“Yeah,” Dom replied, reaching for the doorknob. He paused, turning back to look at Billy. “I won’t apologize for what happened, Bill. It felt…right.” And before Billy could refute what he’d said, Dom limped heavily out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Gerry Butler was standing there, Dom’s cane in his hand, waiting for him. Dom knew he’d heard at least some of what had gone on, but met the blue gaze squarely as he reached for his cane.

“Sorry to have taken up your tea break,” Dom said, proud that his voice was steady.

“Not a problem, mate,” Gerry rumbled as he gestured Dom forward. “Come on, I’ll see you out.”

He walked Dom to the front of the house where Matt, Sean and Maggie were sitting on the porch, chatting amiably.

Matt looked up at him. “Ready to go, then?”

“Yes,” Dom said, nodding. “Thank you again for your hospitality, Mr. and Mrs. Butler. Sergeant Bean, it was good to see you again,” he added as Matt stood. They shook Gerry’s and Sean’s hands and kissed Maggie’s cheek and headed for the car.

A few steps off the porch, Matt threw his arm around Dom’s shoulders and pulled him in for a quick tight hug. Dom let him, uncaring who saw. They hugged for a few seconds, and then started walking again, Matt’s arm still around Dom’s shoulders.

*********

Bean looked over at Gerry as the Monaghans began walking again after the brief hug. “That doesn’t bode well for Billy’s state of mind,” he said quietly.

“I should—“ Maggie began worriedly.

“No, Maggie,” Gerry broke in gently. “I’m just giving him a few minutes, and then I’ll go and see to him. Why don’t you and Sean stay out here for a bit longer.”

Bean’s eyes flew to Gerry’s and saw the emotions there, understood that Gerry needed to be there for Billy this time. He put his arm around Maggie’s shoulders. “Let’s us take a walk.”

Maggie looked from her husband face to Sean’s, reading their emotions, and nodded. “Alright, but don’t imagine that I won’t be checking on him, on the both of you, when we get back,” she said fiercely.

Gerry nodded, understanding her need to protect. The war had taken so much away from Margaret Butler, and she wasn’t about to stand by and do nothing if her men were hurting.

“I’d expect nothing less, love. Now go on with you.”

He stood and watched Bean and his wife walk slowly toward the road, Bean’s arm still around Maggie’s shoulders, and Maggie leaning into Bean’s side. He sighed heavily and headed back into the house.

*********

When Gerry opened the door, Billy was standing in the middle of the room, his face in his hands, shoulders shaking. “Ach, Bill,” he murmured as he crossed the room and took his friend into his arms.

“I…can’t…he’s…”

“Don’t have to explain to me, Billy-lad,” Gerry said softly, one large hand cradling the back of Billy’s head against his shoulder. “Just let it out. You’ve not yet mourned properly, I know you haven’t. You had to keep it together for the rest of us, and you’ve never been given the chance; it’s time.”

Billy shook his head and pulled back a bit. Gerry simply moved to cup his friend’s head in both of his hands, his intense blue eyes searching Billy’s overwrought green. “It won’t go away Bill, I can fucking promise you that. You have to face it - Ewan is never coming back. You’ll never hold him again, never kiss him, never—“

“Do you think I don’t know that, Gerry?” Billy yelled as he jerked away. “I’m fucking _sick_ with it everyday. Every fucking _day_ , mate. This was our _home_ and now I’ve…Oh God, I’ve…” and Billy’s face fell and a harsh sob shook his shoulders.

Gerry had no problem finishing the thought. Billy had had sex with another man in his and Ewan’s home, less than a year after Ewan had been killed. Gerry ached for Billy as he pulled him into another tight embrace, feeling those deep, painful sobs wracking the thin body. Ewan had been one of his best mates as well and he was still grieving himself. He hated knowing that the reason Bill was reacting so badly to events today was because he’d never been given the proper chance to grieve before. He’d had to put it away as best he could—first as a commanding officer of a mission that had gone so terribly wrong (and Gerry still hated the brass for trying to stick it to Bill for their intel failures); then as a leader and friend to his remaining team as he fought to get them through those first awful weeks. Gerry didn’t like to remember how badly he’d acted when he’d woken up to find not only Ewan and John dead, but that his leg was gone and that they wanted to take an arm as well. He’d wanted to die, had lain in that hospital bed in North Africa and screamed and raged at everyone who came close until Bill had slapped some sense into him – literally. Billy had continued to ride herd on all of his men, until they’d been taken away from him one by one.

Karl had been first since he’d had the most minor of injuries, a clean shot through the arm and a nasty furrow-shot across his ribs. He’d been sent back to his original unit (the Kiwi Brigade, as they’d been teasingly called since the night Karl had shown up in the desert with a smirk and a wink for Orlando) just in time to ship out to Malta. Orli had been next, because his hands were undamaged, and he could be put to use defusing bombs as his dexterity was unaffected. Gerry, Sean and Billy had been sent back to England together, although soon after arriving, Gerry was honourably discharged and sent home to recover as best he could. Billy had been bitter about the fact that he and Sean were being kept in England, but since Bill and Sean both still belonged to the Crown, there was nothing to be done about it. Gerry had gone home and gone through the worst time of his life while his mates had been hidden away on a base somewhere. They’d communicated as often as they could, but no leave had been granted, so no visits could be made.

For three months Bill and Sean had been in limbo. Sean had been rehabbing from a deep and nasty bullet wound and subsequent dislocation of the shoulder. Billy had been working back from a messy shot through his thigh and two deep furrows, one across his collarbone and shoulder and the other the length of his back. He’d been shot when he’d gone out and dragged Ewan’s body back from where it had lain outside of their protective ridge.

Gerry realized that he was crying now too; his hands clenched into fists, grasping bunches of Billy’s shirt. He’d thought he was through with this part, but he’d forgotten that, while he had grieved before, it hadn’t been with any of his mates. He also hadn’t really considered that he could have lost the man in his arms. Even when he’d first seen Billy, pale and sick from transport from England and looking one step away from death, it somehow hadn’t occurred to him that Billy might not recover, wouldn’t be back to full health again. He tucked Billy’s head under his chin and held on as tightly as he could.

*********

12 January 1943 Monaghan London home

Dom was reading through his report, when he heard the knock at his door. Fucking Matt, he thought as he limped across the entire house to get to the door. He’d told his brother to take his key with him since Dom hadn’t known how long he’d be at home today.

“Did I not tell you to take your bloody key today,” Dom snapped as he swung the heavy door open. His eyes widened as he realized who was standing there. “Oh…ehm… Major Boyd. I wasn’t expecting…” he trailed off stiltedly.

Billy’s lips quirked in a self-deprecating smirk as he answered, “No, I don’t suppose you would have been. May I come in?”

Dom blinked slowly, thinking about it for a long moment before he stepped back and gestured Billy in. “I must say you’ve got my curiosity piqued, Major. What can you possibly have to say to me after our last visit?”

“Quite a bit, actually,” Billy said evenly as he met Dom’s questioning eyes. “First I’d like to offer you an apology, Dominic. You didn’t deserve the treatment I handed out to you then.”

“No, I didn’t,” Dom agreed.

“I was…well, I wasn’t exactly in the best frame of mind when you showed up,” Billy began ruefully. “I’d like to explain a bit, if you would allow me?”

Dom looked at Billy as he unconsciously chewed on the inside of his cheek. He’d often wished for an explanation over the past few months, but now that it was literally staring him in the face he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear it; wasn’t sure he wanted the remnants of his daydreams shattered as definitively as they most likely would be by any explanation Billy had to offer.

“Dominic?”

Billy’s gentle prompt pulled Dom back into the present and he knew, destroyed daydreams or not, he had to know why he wasn’t acceptable to the man standing before him. “Would you like some tea?”

“I’d bloody well kill for some coffee,” Bill replied, sighing. “But tea will do.”

Dom smiled as he showed Billy into the sitting room. There was a small table set by the window, and he settled Billy into one of the chairs. “Be right back,” he said and hurried off to the library where he’d been working. When he came back, pot on tray in hand, Billy was staring out the window, his face a study in melancholy.

“How do you take it, Major?”

Billy blinked and turned back from the window. “What was that?”

“Your coffee, Major, how do you take it?” Dom replied quietly, the shadows in Boyd’s eyes affecting him more than he thought.

“Coffee? Bless you, son. Black is fine.”

“This isn’t the field, Major. I have sugar and milk if you take them.”

“Fresh milk?”

Billy’s voice was so hopeful Dom couldn’t help but smile. “Fresh milk,” he answered as he set the tray down. “Fix it to your liking.”

A few minutes later Dom was seated across from Billy, watching him savour the coffee - holding the cup in both hands, eyes closed as he smelled the fragrant brew before taking a small sip and rolling it around in his mouth. Dom could only wonder if there was anything Major William Boyd could do that wouldn’t make him hard.

“Not to rush your enjoyment of the coffee, Major, but you were going to tell me something?” Dom winced a bit inwardly at the sarcastic tone of his voice.

“Right,” Billy said crisply, setting the cup down, but keeping one finger looped around the handle, as if assuring himself it wasn’t going to just disappear.

“Why don’t you start with the part where you belong to someone else, and you didn’t just tell me that straight away in Germany after you kissed me,” Dom said, surprised at how angry he was again.

“It isn’t…I don’t…“ Billy’s jaw clenched. “Let me tell you what I’ve got to tell you, Dominic, and then you can say whatever you want, all right?”

Dom nodded curtly and Boyd sighed heavily.

“My original SAS team was four of my mates from the Scots Guard: Bean, Gerry Butler, whom you met in Glasgow, and two others, John Hannah and Ewan McGregor. Orlando and Karl became part of it later. Point is, when you first met me and Bean in ’29, I’d already been with Ewan for six years. We’d grown up together; best mates and then…more. We’d joined up, served, and moved up through the ranks together. We were never separated, not once in all of that time. Ewan was…he…” Billy’s eyes closed for a long moment, and when they opened again they were clouded with memory. “It was December 28, 1941, outside Tobruk. We’d been behind enemy lines on and off for five days, and our reflexes were dulled. He…”

Billy took a hitching breath before continuing. “I almost expected him to sit back up and tell the Jerries to fuck off, he looked so angry. I’ve seen a lot of death, Dominic, and most have fear, pain or surprise frozen on their face when they go. I don’t think I’ll ever forget seeing his blood spray, and then, after I crawled to get to him, his face.” As if to illustrate his point, Billy shook his head almost violently. “It was a mess; Ewan and John dead, the rest of us shot to hell. It was a bloody miracle we got out of there at all. Somehow we made it back behind our own lines, but it was only starting, yeah? They disbanded us. Karl and Orlando were sent back to their original units, and then they discharged Gerry, but wouldn’t let Sean and me see him. They wouldn’t even let me go to see my sister. They kept Sean and me out at High Wycombe while we were rehabbing, but even though we had no duties on the base we couldn’t really leave either. We were there for three months, and then we were summoned for a mission. For you,” Billy said, his eyes meeting Dom’s squarely.

Dom’s eyes widened. Not nearly enough time, Jesus, no wonder Bill had pushed him away so vehemently “I didn’t realize…”

Billy waved his words away. “And how would you have? It wasn’t as if we were going out for a friendly drink down the pub. I was on a mission, and when I’m working, people’s lives are at risk. I can’t…I can’t be distracted, Dominic, and you were one hell of a distraction.”

“You were…are…pretty distracting yourself, Major,” Dom replied, wanting to kick himself for saying anything at all, let alone the huskiness of his voice.

Billy’s sharp green gaze flew to Dom’s face, searching, but when he continued speaking, he ignored Dom’s words. “I couldn’t allow myself to consider you as anything but the objective, until we were as settled and protected as possible, but you impressed me, Dominic. I wanted to see what you were like as a man and not a boy. I wanted to know more about you, but I started thinking of Ewan and I couldn’t.”

“That’s why I came across you in the tunnel,” Dom said quietly. He’d wondered why Billy had been in the tunnel, and not back with his men.

“Aye,” Billy nodded. “And then you told me you were thinking of me sucking your tadger.”

Dom rubbed his palm into his right eye before running that hand across his face. “I hadn’t known I’d spoken that out loud, Bill.”

“You inflamed me, Dominic. Between you and the exhaustion I didn’t stand a chance.”

“I’m glad, Billy,” Dom answered thickly. “I’m so glad you couldn’t control yourself because otherwise I’d’ve never known what it was like to be kissed by you. I’d’ve never known how good you felt against me.”

Billy’s eyes darkened dangerously.

“Presumably you are heading back out into the field,” Dom continued as he placed his hands, palms down, flat against the table. “So you wanted me to know what happened in Glasgow. You wanted it all cleared up in case you really die this time, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Understood,” Dom said pushing himself to standing and leaning over the table, inches from Billy’s face. “You overlooked one thing, though, Bill.”

“What’s that?” Bill said hoarsely.

“I push for what I want,” Dom growled as he leaned to cover Billy’s mouth with his.

Billy groaned and stood himself, his fingers biting into Dom’s shoulders as he opened his mouth and allowed Dom to deepen the kiss. After all too short a time, he pulled back, breathless. “Damn you, Monaghan, I didn’t come here for this.”

“I know you didn’t,” Dom replied, his blue eyes intent on Billy’s face. “You came here to ease your conscience. Like I said, I understand that. Thing is, you’re going back into the field so there may never be another chance; I want you, Bill.”

Billy’s breath caught and he pried his fingers from Dom’s shoulders and stepped away from the table. Dom thought for one agonizing moment that Boyd was going to tell him no, deny them both what they so obviously wanted.

“Billy, what are you—“ He was cut off most brilliantly as Billy stepped right up against him and retook his mouth in a demanding kiss, and his hands clutched Billy’s jacket.

“Okay,” he exhaled shakily when Billy released his mouth.

“No promises, Dominic,” Billy said unevenly, as he searched Dom’s face and eyes for confirmation.

“I’m not asking for any,” Dom replied, meeting Billy’s intent gaze.

Billy continued searching Dom’s eyes for a few more moments, and then he sighed quietly as he lowered his mouth back to Dom’s. Dom had been prepared for another forceful invasion and was surprised by the softness with which Billy was kissing him this time. Billy took his time, slowly and thoroughly mapping Dom’s mouth, teeth, and tongue, Dom shivering at each deliberate swipe of the man’s talented tongue.

Billy pulled back slightly a few minutes later. “Would you like to move somewhere else, or should I just fuck you up against the wall there?”

Dom’s eyes widened and his breath hitched painfully in his chest as a vivid image flashed in his mind - an image of him with his back against the wall and his legs wrapped tightly around Billy’s waist as Billy thrust up into him. “Oh God…”

“I don’t think I need to ask which you were just thinking of,” Billy chuckled huskily as he rolled his hips, the movement bringing their erections into direct contact.

Dom moaned and pressed forward, leaning his forehead on Billy’s shoulder. “My room is in the very back, Billy, and if you do that again, I highly doubt we’ll make it there,” he ground out.

Billy’s arms tightened, but then he set Dom at arm’s length. “Let’s get back there, then, Dominic. As much as I think we both enjoy the idea of the wall, I’m not sure either of us could physically accomplish that at the moment.”

Dom grabbed Billy’s hand and limped back across the house to his bedroom. Billy walked by him, squeezing his hand before dropping it and walking over to the bed. He stood by the end and began to undress, taking care to sharply fold and crease each item as he removed it. He made a low noise when he got his fly unbuttoned and the material parted and released its confinement of his rigid flesh.

Dom was still standing by the door, watching hungrily as Billy undressed. The low not-quite moan had him limping across the room until he could lower himself to his knees between Billy’s legs, his shaking hands pulling the uniform trousers and pants down over slim hips. God, the scent, Billy’s musk and sex; he inhaled deeply, his face pressed against Billy’s inner thigh, nose at the base of his cock, before he moved enough to take that heated flesh into his mouth.

Billy groaned loudly as Dom took him deep and sucked hard. Then one of Billy’s hands was in Dom’s hair and the other was sliding down the side of his neck to his shoulder, gripping, holding on. Dom sucked again, his tongue swirling around Billy’s cock before he pulled back and let it slip from his mouth.

“Jesus,” Billy panted, looking down into Dom’s darkened eyes.

“Still have your boots on, Boyd,” Dom smirked. “Harder to get the trousers off that way.”

“You’re obviously down there to help with that particular problem, yeah?”

“Obviously,” Dom chuckled huskily, as he turned his attention to untying Billy’s boots. Soon enough he had both boots undone and was pulling them off, along with the socks. He moved back enough for Bill to step out of the trousers and pants and watched as he carefully creased the trousers and laid them on top of the pile.

“So natty,” Dom teased as his hand roamed Billy’s newly exposed skin, stroking up to his hips and across the planes of his belly.

“Get up here, Monaghan,” Billy growled, reaching down to help support Dom’s weight as he lifted himself up on shaking legs.

Dom moaned as he was swung into a hard kiss, one of Billy’s hands moving to cup his chin, holding him while Billy angled his head for better access. Dom gasped into the kiss as Billy’s other hand cupped his hardness, fingers framing the rigid column. Billy squeezed and Dom broke from the kiss, crying out as he lowered his head to rest on Billy’s shoulder. He shuddered as Billy squeezed again and his hands scrabbled for his fly, needing to feel skin on skin contact before he went mad. He managed to peel his trousers and pants down enough for Billy to reach in and wrap his fingers around silky, straining heat. Dom pushed forward into Billy’s hand, a broken groan falling from his lips as Billy tightened his grip and began to stroke.

“Billy, please,” he whispered against Billy’s neck as clever fingers added a twist at the end of every stroke. He began thrusting, trying for even more friction. “Please, I want—“

“Know what you want,” Billy murmured thickly as he sank to his knees. He stroked down one last time before letting go and sucking Dom into his mouth.

Dom didn’t even have time to react to losing the sensation of Billy’s hand before he was being taken into Billy’s mouth; all he could do was close his eyes tightly and shudder violently as Billy began moving up and down his length, taking him deeper each time.

“So good, Billy…feels brilliant…please…oh _God_ \--“ Dom’s harsh chanting turned into a loud cry as Billy wrapped his tongue around the erection in his mouth before sucking hard, his cheeks hollowing around Dom’s cock. Dom’s hips thrust forward of their own accord and Billy’s hands moved to hold Dom still as best he could without breaking his rhythm. At a particularly emphatic flexing of Billy’s fingers, Dom opened his eyes, looked down and nearly came on the spot. He was mesmerized by the movement of his cock in and out of Billy’s mouth, by the way those lips wrapped tightly around his flesh. He reached down and cupped Billy’s face in his hands, his fingers tracing over Billy’s cheeks. He pressed gently, feeling the added friction against his cock and his eyes closed in pleasure.

Billy obligingly sucked harder, hollowing his cheeks again. “Billy, oh fuck!” Dom cried out, his hands moving up and fisting in Billy’s short hair. “I can’t…I have to…”

Billy released his bruising hold on Dom’s hips, relaxing his throat muscles and letting Dom thrust wildly, taking him deep. Dom released a series of breathy moans as his hips stuttered and then his back arched with the force of his orgasm as he felt Billy swallow around him.

“Billy…” he whispered a few seconds later, his hands unclenching and stroking back down to frame Billy’s face gently again.

Billy let Dom’s softening cock slip from his mouth, gently rubbing the tender skin on Dom’s hips. “You’ll have bruises.”

“Bill?”

“Mmm?”

“Don’t worry about bruises, all right? Just get up here and fuck me until I can’t remember my own name.”

“Jesus, Dominic,” Billy ground out as he pulled himself to standing. “Keep talking like that and this’ll be over before we can even get the rest of your clothes off, lad.”

Dom quickly pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor before skinning out of his trousers and pants and kicking them out of the way. “See how quick and easy it can be?”

“Such cheek,” Billy tsked. He climbed onto the bed and knelt, patting the mattress next to him. “Come on up, then, I’ve got something for you,” he added, stroking himself.

Dom’s spent cock twitched at the heavily accented words, and he carefully got up onto the bed. He sat on the edge and turned enough to face Billy. “Something I’ve wanted for a very long time,” he said hoarsely, laying his hands on Billy’s thighs. His fingers caught on a roughened and raised scar and he looked down at the puckered skin, tracing it lightly with a fingertip before looking back up to meet Billy’s gaze. “Bill…”

Billy let go of his dick and stroked down Dom’s flank. “Come over on your side.”

“No, Billy. I know you don’t want to hurt my leg, but I am not wasting this. I want you hard and deep. I want to be able to feel you after you’re gone.”

Billy shuddered and his hand flew between his legs, twisting his balls. “For Christ’s sake, don’t say things like that to me right now,” he grated, wincing at the self-induced pain.

Dom felt himself begin to harden again as he watched Billy struggle for control. It was about the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. He tore his hungry gaze from Billy and crawled to within reach of his bedside table drawer. He pulled out the tin of petroleum jelly he kept there and turned back around, showing it to Billy. “Can you or should I?”

Billy’s eyes shut tightly and when he opened them again there was only a slim ring of vibrant green surrounding the dilated pupil. “Let me,” he said thickly.

Dom twisted the top off and held it out to Billy. His breath caught almost painfully as he watched Billy dip his fingers in, coating them thoroughly before slicking up his cock. Then he reached in a second time, making sure his fingers were covered again.

“On your knees, then, Dominic.”

Dom’s cock jerked in response to the gravelly tone as he quickly turned and presented his backside to Billy, resting his weight on his elbows and laying his head on his forearm.

Billy ran his free hand from the nape of Dom’s neck down to the rounded buttocks. He squeezed one cheek and pulled it enough to expose Dom’s puckered entrance. He circled the hole with one of his greased fingers before slipping inside.

“So tight,” he rasped, slipping another finger in as gently as he could.

“Haven’t…oh _God_ …done this in a while,” Dom panted as Billy’s fingers twisted inside of him. He moved his head restlessly against his arm and pushed back, letting Billy know he was ready for more. He couldn’t hold in his urgent moan as a third finger was pressed into him, working him open, stretching. “Billy, don’t…no more…need you…please…”

“And you’ll have me, Dominic,” Billy said hoarsely, withdrawing his fingers and guiding his cock to Dom’s entrance.

Dom whimpered, angling his head so that he could look back at Billy, his blue eyes dark and wild with need and hunger. Billy’s eyes fluttered shut as he moved forward, pushing slowly into Dom’s tight heat. Once fully seated, he paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. He needed to focus and keep control because Dom was already moving, wanting more. “Keep still, Dom. I can’t…you have to let me…”

“Jesus, Bill, just _fuck me_ ,” Dom groaned, clenching around Billy’s cock.

Billy hissed at the sensation and then his fingers once again dug into Dom’s hips as he began thrusting, pulling Dom back against him on every stroke. He quickly moved from shallow thrusts to a deeper motion, sinking as far as he could into Dom’s body before pulling back again.

He leaned forward, covering Dom’s back with his chest, deliberately changing the angle of penetration. Dom cried out as Billy rubbed over his prostate, pushing himself up onto his hands, his hip cocking out to keep that angle. Billy moaned loudly and spread his knees to accommodate the new position. He let go of one of Dom’s hips, his arm wrapping around Dom’s chest, holding him tightly against his body as he started thrusting up. Dom pushed back and up, his head thrashing wildly as he keened his pleasure.

Billy moved to settle with his weight back on his heels, keeping his arm tightly around Dom’s chest, pulling Dom up with him.

“Oh God, Billy, so fucking _good_ ,” Dom moaned as he reached down and grabbed his aching erection, stroking himself roughly. His head fell back against Billy’s shoulder as he threw his free arm up to clutch the back of Billy’s neck.

Billy’s other arm moved up to reach around Dom’s abdomen, and Dom cried out loudly as Billy started thrusting up as hard and fast as he could manage.

“Billy, ohh, you’re…” Dom moaned as Billy hit his prostate on every thrust. Dom’s fingers slid down to dig brutally into Billy’s shoulder as his head rolled from side to side. He couldn’t seem to decide what to do with his other hand and alternated between stroking himself and reaching back to grab Billy’s hair, ear, neck, whatever he could wrap his fingers around. “Billy! Fuck, fuck, I’m so close, please…”

Billy lifted Dom up almost all the way off of his cock and then let him fall back down on it, thrusting up at the same time. Dom cried out loudly, his back bowing and his head pressing against Billy’s collarbone as he came hard, spurting onto the bed and his own belly as his muscles clenched around Billy’s cock.

Billy thrust three more times into Dom’s pliant body before his own orgasm overtook him. He came with a guttural moan and lowered his head to rest against Dom’s sweaty hair, their harsh, panting breath mingling.

Dom didn’t move or speak after, allowing Billy to support his weight and enjoying the physical closeness he’d never expected to have with this man. He knew it wouldn’t last long.

“How’s the leg?”

“Well fucked, just like the rest of me.”

Billy snorted behind him and Dom allowed a small smile to flit across his face as he turned enough to make eye contact. “It’s true.”

“I know,” came the low, teasing reply as Billy lifted him a bit and gently withdrew.

Dom winced as he laid himself down, rolling to face Billy. “It hurts, but it always hurts.”

Billy leaned over and examined the scars on Dom’s calf, both the bullet and the jagged surgery scars. His brow knitted as his fingers lightly traced several buckshot spray wounds. “Shotgun?”

“A pre-Great War Winchester. Those bastards shot me with one of the weapons from my family’s own gun collection, if you can believe that.”

Billy’s knuckles flew up to his mouth as if to keep laughter from spilling out. “I’m sorry, Dominic, but—“

“No, I get the humour of the situation. I do. I thought my brothers and uncles would die from laughing when we realized. I just wish it was someone else got shot,” Dom replied, chuckling ruefully.

Billy’s fingers brushed over Dom’s calf again. “They tell you you’d always have the limp?”

“Yes,” Dom snorted. “They also told me that I’d be using a cane for the rest of my life. You can see how much I take their words to heart.”

“Not done pushing yet, are you.”

“No, I’m not. I won’t settle, Bill. Not when there’s a chance for better.”

“Such a fighter,” Billy said approvingly.

“That you can bank on,” Dom said purposefully. “We’re a lot alike in that respect.”

“We are,” Billy agreed, a small smile quirking his lips. “I have a feeling that if you could go back into Germany, right into the lion’s den, you would.”

“Absolutely, I would. I’m not afraid to die for what I believe in.”

“Only now you can continue with what you were doing, but without the pressure of trying to hide or keep yourself alive. Best of both worlds, eh?”

“Are you trying to make me feel better about my circumstances, Major Boyd?”

“Transparent, that’s me.”

Dom shook his head, smiling as he pushed Billy over onto his back, rolling himself to cover the other man. “You are one of the least transparent men I have ever met, and I work in Intelligence.”

“I find that many people who work in Intelligence don’t have nearly as much of it as they reckon, Monaghan.”

“From consoling to maligning in under thirty seconds. Impressive, Major.”

Billy laughed, his eyes sparkling with humour and Dom lowered his head to Billy’s shoulder, unable to hold the gaze. He knew this was likely the only time they would be together in this way and he most definitely did not want to spoil it by letting Billy see how much more he wanted. He rubbed his forehead across Billy’s collarbone and gently kissed the scar he encountered there before pushing himself up and running a finger along it.

“That one’s from Tobruk,” Billy said quietly. “That, my thigh and then there’s one on my back.”

“Let me see,” Dom said, lifting himself up enough that Billy could turn under him. Billy obligingly turned over and Dom inhaled sharply at the jagged mark that extended alongside the spine from between Billy’s shoulders to the plane of his hip. “Jesus, Bill.”

“It isn’t as bad as it looks. Just a furrow, no deep tissue penetration.”

“Not that time,” Dom said lowly, tracing the entry point of one of the shots he knew had nearly killed Billy in Germany. It was low on his back and side, and deceptively tiny. Dom’s other hand slid round Billy’s side and brushed over the exit wound, which was almost twice the size. Then he ran a finger along the puckered flesh to the side of Billy’s left shoulder blade. The bullet had entered over the collarbone. “The third?”

“Does it really matter?”

“Yes.”

Billy took Dom’s hand and moved it to his right side, letting Dom’s fingers brush over the entry site. “It went in here, cracked ribs as it ricocheted off the ribcage and lodged in my lung.”

Dom’s fingers stopped moving as he truly considered the life threatening nature of those wounds. Each one of them, alone, could have killed Billy. “How..?”

Billy turned over to lie on his back and face Dom. “How did I survive? You, Hans-Peter and my inability to just be done with it, I expect.”

“No, what I mean is, how are you field-ready? Because I have to say that you are in amazing physical shape for someone who was nearly dead six months ago, Bill.”

Billy gave a lopsided grin. “Pong and Tze Li.”

“Eh?”

“We knew them in Shanghai. Tze was our unit’s Boy and Pong is his sister. They adopted us, made sure we knew how to eat, speak and move about like locals. Made life a hell of a lot easier over there, I’ll tell you. They came over sometime around ‘35 and Maggie took them in up in Glasgow until they got settled into their own place. The Chinese have exercises that produce brilliant results in flexibility and balance while being gentle and slow. As you build up your strength, you can do more complex and powerful moves. Put those workouts together with a combination of herbs, specifically applied heat, needles and pressure massage, and you have an amazing rehab program. Healing from the inside out, I suppose you could say.

“It’s also why Gerry has such an excellent range of motion despite how terrible his injuries were. If it had been left up to the doctors here, he’d be in a wheelchair with one arm and a damaged back. Maybe you should look into your own Chinese therapy, Dominic. It can’t do anything but improve your results.”

Dom looked thoughtful. “I may have to do that.”

A clock somewhere in the house struck the hour and Billy sighed deeply. “I have to go.”

“I know.”

Billy extricated himself from Dom’s limbs and got out of bed. He went into the wash room and took a quick shower before returning to dress.

Dom watched quietly as Billy pulled the layers of clothing back on, hiding the beautiful body, the scars, and the bruises Dom’s fingers had left. He wanted to say something, anything to keep the connection they’d forged, but couldn’t seem to get anything out of his mouth. Finally, when Billy was completely dressed and tying his boots, he got out of bed himself and pulled on his dressing robe.

Billy smiled as he straightened. “You’re going to see me out? How romantic.”

Dom rolled his eyes and felt his awkwardness disappear. They walked out to the sitting room again and Billy glanced at the table, sighing as he saw the abandoned coffee cup still sitting there.

“Poor Bill, having to give up his coffee for an amazing shag. I hope it was worth it for you.”

“I don’t know, mate, that was _fresh milk_.”

Dom threw his head back and laughed. “Better finish it up to make it worth your while then.”

Billy poured a bit of a warmer into the cup and took another drink, his eyes closing in pleasure. “God that’s good.”

“Don’t suppose we could have a go at this wall before you leave?” Dom asked huskily.

Billy laughed even as his eyes darkened again. “As much as I’d like to take you up against that wall, Dominic, I think that’ll have to be another time.”

“Will there be another time?” Dom winced inwardly as soon as the words left his mouth.

“No promises, but God knows if we make it through this war, anything is possible,” Billy said, his voice light but his eyes serious as he looked at Dom.

“Then I have something to ask of you,” Dom replied, swallowing hard. When Billy only raised an eyebrow, he continued. “Would you let me know you’re still alive every once in awhile? Just so the wall and I can keep our hopes up?”

Billy smiled and reached to shake Dom’s hand. “Don’t know how often or how timely you’ll receive the messages, but I’ll try.”

Dom grabbed Billy’s hand and pulled him into a tight hug. “Please take care, Bill.”

“I’ll do my best,” Billy replied, squeezing Dom even tighter for a moment “You take care of yourself as well, Dominic,” he added, setting Dom an arm’s length away.

Dom’s brows drew in as he tried to come up with something else to say, but there was nothing that wouldn’t give away the true depth of his feelings.

Billy cupped his face, kissing him gently, yet thoroughly, before stepping back. He gave one last light caress of fingers along Dom’s cheeks and jaw and then turned and left the house without another word.

Dom sat down at the table and stared at the coffee cup until his tears blurred it too much.

*********

5 April 1943 MI6 Building, London

Dom looked up from the report on his desk when his door opened rather abruptly. “Brigadier McKellen. To what do I owe the honour?”

McKellen simply walked across Dom’s small office and tossed an envelope onto his desk.

Dom picked it up and his heart rate increased when he saw the sender’s name. “Thank you, Ian,” he said quietly, turning the envelope over and over in his hands.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” McKellen said, turning to leave and shutting the door behind himself.

His hands shook as he tore open the envelope and pulled out the paper inside. He took a deep breath and began to read.

_Dominic,_

_Well, I’m still alive. It’s taken me long enough to write, sorry for that, but it’s been a bit of a close shave a few times out here. At the worst of it, though, I found myself thinking of coffee cups and sitting room walls, and I managed to pull through…_  


End file.
